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THE  HISTORY  OF 

Mr.  John  Decastro 

AND    HIS   BROTHER    BAT 

COMMONLY  CALLED  OLD  CRAB 


THE 

MERRY  MATTER   WRITTEN  BY 

J 

OHN    MATHERS 

THE  GRAVE  BY  A  SOLID 

GENTLEMAN 

IN  TWO  VOL  UMES 

Volume  One 

THE  IRWIN  PRESS 

FRICK  BUILDING,  PITTSBURG,  PA. 
MDCCCCII 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
JAMES    T.   TYNDALL 

Registered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 
{Print i'd  in  the  United  States  of  A  mericai 


LIBRARY 

IIHIVERSJTY  OF  CALIFORN 
SAATA  BARBARA 


INTRODUCTION   TO   THE   ORMONDE 
EDITION 

This  new  edition  of  an  English  masterpiece  calls  for 
some  introductory  words  of  comment  and  explanation. 

The  "  History  of  Mr.  John  Decastro  "  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  books  in  our  language.  It  is  remark- 
able, first,  as  the  finest  specimen  of  Rabelaisian  humor 
ever  produced  in  a  country  that  has  given  birth  to 
many  imitators  of  the  Gargantuan  Frenchman.  Sec- 
ondly, its  career  has  been  as  remarkable  as  are  its  con- 
tents. 

Issued  in  London  in  1815,  its  title  page  read  as  does 
the  title  page  of  the  present  edition,  save  for  the  im- 
print, which  ran:  "London:  Printed  for  T.  Egerton, 
Whitehall,  181 5."  An  American  edition  speedily  fol- 
lowed in  Boston.  Neither  in  England  nor  in  America 
does  it  appear  that  the  book  attracted  any  considerable 
attention  on  its  first  appearance.  The  Edinburgh  Re- 
view, in  its  quarterly  number  for  June,  181 5,  mentioned 
it,  by  title  only,  as  among  the  novels  of  the  preceding 
quarter.  But  the  Edinburgh  did  not  condescend  to 
notice  it. 

The  Quarterly  Review  passes  it  by  altogether.     Only 

in  the  New  Monthly  Magazine  (April,  181 5),  among  all 

contemporary  periodicals,  have  I  been  able  to  find  a 

[in] 


31ntrotmction 


notice,  a  very  brief  notice,  under  the  general  head  of 
"New  Publications  in  February  and  March."  Though 
brief,  the  notice  is  distinctly  complimentary.  "  In  point 
of  humor,"  says  the  New  Monthly,  "  the  book  stands 
without  a  parallel  in  our  day,  and  we  doubt  very  much 
whether  Fielding  or  Smollett  could,  with  any  chance 
of  success,  dispute  the  palm  with  the  author  of  '  The 
History  of  Mr.  John  Decastro.'  " 

This  is  the  sole  exception,  then.  For  the  rest,  the 
critics  neglected  the  book.  The  public  did  not  clamor 
for  copies.  Nor  did  any  one  seek  to  penetrate  the 
mystery  of  its  authorship. 

To  that  mystery  the  title-page  furnishes  no  clue. 
"John  Mathers,"  who  is  credited  with  a  share  in  the 
work,  is  merely  the  name  of  one  of  the  characters  in 
the  novel — "  more  familiarly  known  as  Old  Comical." 
How  he  comes  to  figure  on  the  title-page,  as  well  as  in 
the  story,  is  nowhere  explained.  We  guess,  of  course, 
that  it  is  a  humorous  freak  on  the  part  of  the  real  au- 
thor to  hide  behind  the  dual  masks  of  "  Old  Comical " 
and  "  the  Solid  Gentleman,"  and,  by  the  alternate  use 
of  each,  to  gain  a  more  poignant  interest  and  a  more 
vivid  verisimilitude.  The  trick  undoubtedly  adds  to 
the  quaintness  of  a  very  quaint  book. 

Two  score  years  passed  away.     The  book,  it  would 

seem,  had  sunk  into  oblivion.    Yet  its  memory  was  kept 

alive  in  an  esoteric  fashion  by  here  and  there  a  true 

believer.     Among  these  believers,  I  am  quite  confident, 

was  William  Makepeace  Thackeray.     The  reasons  for 

[iv] 


31ntrotmctton 


this  confidence  I  shall  give  anon.  Among  them,  also, 
I  am  equally  confident,  was  Edward  Bruce  Hamley,  not 
yet  forgotten  as  the  author  of  "  Lady  Lee's  Widow- 
hood." The  reasons  for  the  latter  confidence  I  shall 
give  right  here  and  now. 

In  January,  1857,  all  true  believers  were  rejoiced  by 
the  appearance  of  an  article  in  Blackwood 's  Magazine 
entitled  "John  Decastro,  a  Quaint  Rechauffe."  It 
was  a  notable  bit  of  literary  criticism.  Likewise  it 
was  full  of  wit  and  humor,  of  light-hearted  buoyancy, 
of  infectious  enthusiasm.  All  these  qualities  of  style 
suggested,  or  rather  insisted,  that  the  critic  could  be 
none  other  than  the  brilliant  young  author  who  had  just 
captured  the  reading  public  with  his  "  Lady  Lee's 
Widowhood."  This  novel,  it  may  be  remembered,  first 
appeared  as  a  serial  in  Blackwood s  Magazine. 

At  all  events,  and  by  whomsoever  written,  the  article 
fulfilled  its  expressed  aim  "  to  prevent  the  memory  of 
the  Decastros  from  perishing  utterly  from  the  face  of 
the  earth."  It  did  more  than  this.  It  brought  to- 
gether the  scattered  ashes  of  the  Decastro  cult  and 
fanned  them  into  a  flame  that  has  burned  steadily  to 
the  present  day.  The  old  editions  of  the  book  have 
been  eagerly  in  demand  ever  since ;  though  the  supply 
has  been  utterly  inadequate  to  meet  the  demand. 

And  every  now  and  then  some  self-fancied  Colum- 
bus of  criticism  has  re-discovered  the  book  and  rushed 
into  print  with  an  enthusiastic  laudation  of  his  find. 

But  no  Columbus  has  yet  discovered  the  author's 
[vj 


3]ntroimctton 


name.  Repeated  appeals  by  baffled  investigators  to 
that  champion  of  the  literary  questioner,  the  London 
Notes  and  Queries,  have  failed  to  elicit  any  clue.  With 
one  exception  the  bibliographies  and  the  dictionaries  of 
anonymous  and  pseudonymous  literature  are  silent  as  to 
book  and  author  alike.  That  exception  is  Cushing's 
"Anonyms,"  which  names  the  book  and  boldly  credits 
it  to  George  Colman  the  Younger  (i  762-1 836).  As 
Mr.  dishing  gives  no  authority  for  his  ascription  we 
may  consider  it  a  mere  guess. 

Is  it  a  good  guess  ?  Not  very.  It  has,  indeed,  a 
certain  external  plausibility.  The  younger  Colman  is 
known  in  our  day  as  the  author  of  "  Broad  Grins,"  a 
collection  of  humorous  ballads,  and  of  two  comedies — 
"The  Heir-at-Law"  and  "The  Poor  Gentleman" — 
which  are  still  found  to  possess  a  considerable  vitality 
and  have  sustained  the  test  of  revival  before  a  modern 
audience.  They  are  indifferent  comedies,  but  excellent 
farces — full  of  broad  fun,  pungently  seasoned  with 
equivoque  and  verbal  pleasantry,  portraying  character 
and  picturing  life  in  much  the  same  coarse  colors  that 
the  artist  of  a  circus  caravan  might  employ.  In  these 
purely  mirth-provoking  qualities  they  are  akin  to  "  John 
Dccastro."  But  the  author  of  the  latter  seems  to  me 
to  have  a  wider  humanity,  a  more  kindly  tolerance,  a 
finer  insight — a  greater  genius,  in  short.  He  carica- 
tures, but  he  hints  the  truth  behind  the  caricature. 

His  women,  for  example,  are  drawn  with  a  free  hand 

and  a  thick  brush,  yet  their  subtler  selves,  full  of  win- 

[vi] 


31tttroDuctton 


some  and  baffling  self-contradictions,  are  reproduced 
with  a  good  deal  of  tact  and  skill. 

In  short,  the  Blackwood  critic  is  right  when  he  de- 
scribes the  characters  in  John  Decastro  as  "  grotesque, 
yet  clear  and  individual,  and  conveying  a  vivid  idea  of 
reality  through  a  wildly  and  wilfully  exaggerated  me- 
dium." Now,  this  idea  of  reality  is  absent  from  Col- 
man's  exaggerations. 

The  same  critic  describes  the  humor  of  the  book  as 
racy,  genial,  and  Rabelaisian.  "  Rabelaisian  "  indeed, 
is  the  term  that  springs  naturally  to  mind.  The  humor 
of  "  John  Decastro  "  is  distinguished  by  a  Rabelaisian 
exuberance  of  life  and  overflow  of  animal  spirits.  But 
it  is  marred  likewise  by  some  of  the  Rabelaisian  free- 
dom of  speech.  So  much  is  acknowledged  by  our  critic. 
"The  author,"  he  says,  "has  some  other  peculiarities 
in  common  with  Rabelais  besides  his  humor;  and  the 
fastidious,  not  to  say  squeamish  taste  of  our  times  re- 
jects all  pleasantry  in  which  there  is  any  tincture  of 
impropriety.  He  was,  we  doubt  not,  some  bold,  un- 
conventional spirit,  careless  of  forms,  impatient  of  re- 
straint— a  plain  blunt  man,  who  spoke  right  on — indif- 
ferent as  to  whose  corns  he  trod  on ;  and,  therefore, 
though  the  morality  of  the  book  is  perfectly  unimpeach- 
able, yet  we  doubt  not  the  breadth  of  the  humor  has 
caused  it  to  be  utterly  ignored  by  the  'damned  disin- 
heriting countenance '  of  modern  decorum." 

There  is  something  in  this.     Yet,  after  all,  modern 

decorum   has    not    disinherited   Washington   Irving's 

[vii] 


3f]ntroDuct£ott 


"Knickerbocker,"  which  was  published  only  a  few 
years  earlier,  and  which,  with  less  verbal  indecorum, 
has  certainly  a  great  deal  more  of  indecorous  sugges- 
tion. Nor  has  it  disinherited  Smollett,  who  is  much 
coarser,  Fielding,  who  is  more  plain  spoken,  or  Sterne, 
who  exhibits,  what  "John  Mathers"  never  does,  a 
prurient  sympathy  with  vice.  Indeed,  vice  and  crime 
alike  excite  the  robust,  you  might  even  say  the  uproari- 
ous, denunciation  of  John  Mathers.  The  majority  of 
his  characters,  and  those  the  most  lovingly  lingered 
over,  are  singularly  wholesome  types.  His  heroines, 
without  exception,  are  virtuous.  There  are  villains, 
who  provide  pitfalls  for  the  feet  of  the  virtuous  and  a 
background  of  adventure  for  what  would  otherwise  be 
a  mere  collection  of  comic  scenes,  but  their  deeds  are 
not  gloated  over,  and  the  villains  themselves  are  made 
to  suffer  agonies  of  remorse  such  as  villains  of  real  life 
never  suffer,  or  they  are  overtaken  by  Nemesis  with  a 
certainty  that  the  Nemesis  of  real  life  never  exhibits. 

Our  unknown  author,  then,  derives  his  manner  from 
Rabelais.  His  mannerisms  show  distinct  traces  of 
Sterne.  He  has  the  whimsicalities  and  eccentricities 
of  Yorick.  But  he  is  no  slavish  imitator.  In  collo- 
quial ease  and  a  certain  candor  of  self-mockery  he  an- 
ticipates Thackeray.  Indeed,  the  anticipation  is  so 
evident  that,  as  already  intimated,  I  have  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Michael  Angelo  Titmarsh  had  read  and 
admired  John  Mathers. 

Let  us  dwell  a  little  longer  upon  this  likeness  to 
[viii] 


Jlnti'oDttction 


Thackeray.  Doubtless  'tis  due,  in  a  measure,  to  the 
fact  that  Thackeray  was  a  careful  student  of  the  elder 
masters  (somewhat  obsolete  among  his  own  contem- 
poraries) under  whose  influence  the  author  of  "  John 
Decastro"  must  have  been  born  and  bred.  "John 
Mathers "  imbibed  Fielding  and  Sterne  through  his 
pores,  as  Thackeray  did  through  his  brains.  Fielding 
and  Sterne  constituted  the  atmosphere  of  the  former's 
world,  as  of  the  latter's  library.  But,  moreover,  there 
was  a  natural  tendency  in  both  to  look  upon  the  world 
and  upon  art  from  the  standpoint  elected  also  by  Field- 
ing and  Sterne,  the  standpoint  of  a  "  most  humorous 
melancholy,"  which  loves  art  but  recognizes  its  inade- 
quacy (humanly  speaking)  to  paint  the  world,  loves  the 
world  but  recognizes  its  inability  to  reach  the  ideals  of 
art,  and  effects  a  compromise  in  mockery  that  includes 
not  only  the  world  and  art  but  the  self  of  the  spectator. 
To  some  of  us  this  attitude  is  very  satisfying;  to 
others  it  is  entirely  abhorrent.  Dickens  and  Howells, 
for  example,  protest  against  it.  Says  Dickens:  "I 
thought  that  he  (Thackeray)  too  much  feigned  a  want 
of  earnestness,  and  that  he  made  a  pretence  of  under- 
rating his  art,  which  was  not  good  for  the  art  that  he 
held  in  trust."  Now  see  how  closely  Howells  echoes 
Dickens :  "  He  (Thackeray  again)  put  on  a  fine  literary 
air  of  being  above  his  business ;  he  talked  of  fiction  as 
fable-land,  when  he  ought  to  have  known  it  and  pro- 
claimed it  the  very  home  of  truth,  where  alone  we  can 

see  men  through  all  their  disguises;   he  formed  the 

[ix] 


3IntroDuctton 


vicious  habit  of  spoiling  the  illusion,  or  clouding  the  clear 
air  of  his  art  by  the  intrusion  of  his  own  personality." 
I  trust  that  in  their  respective  degrees  I  can  appreciate 
both  Dickens  and  Howells.  But,  speaking  for  myself, 
I  prefer  the  writers  who  do  not  take  themselves  or 
their  "art"  too  seriously,  and  whose  sense  of  humor 
does  not  stop  at  their  creations,  but  includes  also  the 
creative  Ego. 

In  that  Bedlam  of  self-contradictory  follies  which  is 
known  as  modern  criticism  two  well-known  phrases 
stand  out  clear  and  shining  in  their  sanity.  The  first 
is  Matthew  Arnold's  description  of  literature  as  "a 
criticism  of  life."  This  suggests,  but  only  suggests, 
the  inference  that  the  value  of  the  criticism  is  bounded 
by  the  limits  of  the  critic's  intelligence.  Therefore  I 
prefer  my  second  quotation,  which  expressly  states 
what  the  other  only  suggests : 

"  Literature,"  says  Zola,  "  is  life  seen  through  a  tem- 
perament." 

There  you  are  exactly.  A  work  of  art  may  cheer, 
may  stimulate,  may  amuse,  may  elevate,  may  instruct. 
It  may  present  pictures  of  mortal  men  and  mutable 
manners,  which  will  be  immortally  and  immutably 
true.  But  its  severely  scientific  value  lies  in  the  fact 
that  it  interprets  a  temperament,  that  it  reveals  a  per- 
sonality. 

Back  of  every  important  personality  is  a  vast  con- 
stituency of  less  important  personalities  which  it  sums 
up,  interprets,  and  reveals.     But  no  man's  personality, 

[x] 


31ntcoDuction 


not  Balzac's  nor  Goethe's — nay,  nor  Shakespeare's  him- 
self, has  been  large  enough  to  sum  up,  interpret,  and 
reveal  the  aggregate  personality  of  the  race. 

A  work  of  art  is  a  human  document.  True  enough, 
But  in  order  to  appraise  aright  its  humanitarian  mes- 
sage you  must  first  read  aright  the  documentary  evi- 
dence it  presents  concerning  the  artist. 

All  which  merely  means  that  art,  except  in  its  in- 
tentions, deserves  none  of  the  fine  epithets  which 
Mr.  Howells  expends  upon  it,  but  is  (in  his  own 
phrase)  a  "  fable-land  "  wherein  the  artist  records  his 
own  more  or  less  truthful  imaginations  concerning 
his  fellow  beings,  and  in  so  doing  reveals  himself  and 
the  greater  or  lesser  constituency  that  lie  back  of  him- 
self. 

But  to  get  back  to  "  Mr.  John  Decastro." 

It  is  this  whimsical  sort  of  self-mockery  which  doubt- 
less was  responsible  for  our  author's  alternate  use  of 
his  serious  and  comic  masks.  The  Solid  Gentleman  is 
continually  interfering  to  check  the  extravagances  of 
Old  Comical,  and  this  very  interference  is  additionally 
provocative  to  laughter.  Without  any  machinery  of 
this  sort,  Thackeray's  dual  nature  was  also  continually 
protesting,  each  side  against  the  other,  and  with  a  like 
effect  of  whimsical  humor.  Sometimes  the  fun  is  at 
the  expense  of  the  thought,  sometimes  at  the  form  into 
which  it  is  put. 

I  think  I  have  been  lucky  enough  to  lay  my  finger 

upon  two  instances,  one  from  each  of  these  authors, 

[xi] 


3f1ntrotmctton 


which  arc  so  far  alike  in  substance  and  method  that 
they  will  illustrate  my  meaning  better  than  any  further 
beating  about  the  bush  of  phrase. 

In  the  seventeenth  chapter  of  the  second  volume  of 
the  present  work  may  be  found  (p.  360)  a  riotously  hu- 
morous attack  upon  the  squeamishness  of  the  age,  fol- 
lowed by  these  sentences:  "Acerbus  soon  followed 
Genevieve  to  her  room — (N.B.  The  Solid  Gentleman 
laid  violent  hands  on  the  pen  at  this  time,  or  Old 
Comical,  at  the  next  step,  would  have  been  in  the  bride's 
chamber.)" 

In  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  first  volume  of  "  The 
Newcomes,"  there  is  a  semi-sentimental  and  semi- 
humorous  description  of  how  good  little  Miss  Honey- 
man  had  prepared  herself  for  her  defiance  of  Mrs. 
Newcomer  "Then  she  went  to  array  herself  in  her 
best  clothes,  as  we  have  seen — as  we  have  heard  rather 
(goodness  forbid  that  we  should  see  Miss  Honeyman 
arraying  herself,  or  penetrate  that  chaste  mystery,  her 
toilette !)  " 

Scores  of  such-like  parallelisms  might  be  cited.  But 
there  is  also  between  these  two  men  a  likeness  in  un- 
likeness.  As  a  rule,  the  author  of  "John  Decastro" 
calls  in  the  Solid  Gentleman  to  curb  the  extravagan- 
cies of  Old  Comical.  As  a  rule,  Thackeray  invokes 
his  Comic  Muse  to  prevent  a  dreaded  lapse  into  senti- 
mentality. "His  pathos,"  says  an  early  critic  of 
Thackeray,  "  is  exquisite;  the  more  so,  perhaps,  be- 
cause he  seems  to  struggle  against  it,  and  to  be  half- 

[xiij 


3flntroDuctton 


ashamed  of  being  caught  in  the  melting  mood  "  (Ed- 
inburgh Review,  January,  1818). 

There  is  one  famous  man — at  his  maturity  when 
"John  Decastro"  appeared — who  bears  some  of  the 
personal  and  mental  traits  that  one  might  attribute  to 
the  unknown  novelist.  This  was  William  Cobbett 
(1762-183$).  In  his  vitality,  his  violence,  his  pugnacity, 
his  independence,  his  obstreperous  and  extravagant 
humor,  and  particularly  in  his  union  of  coarseness  of 
language  with  purity  of  intent,  Cobbett  has  much  in 
common  with  "John  Mathers."  When  I  found,  in 
"John  Decastro"  (Vol.  I.,  page  300)  that  Old  Comical 
makes  a  comparison  of  London  to  an  "inposthume,"  I 
remembered  Cobbett's  favorite  name  for  that  city,  the 
"Great  Wen,"  and  wondered  if  I  had  struck  upon  a 
clue  to  the  authorship  of  the  novel.  Certainly  Cobbett 
would  have  been  far  more  likely  than  his  contempo- 
rary Colman  to  publish  a  novel  anonymously,  if  he 
had  written  one.  Colman  tried  his  hands  at  so 
many  forms  of  imaginative  literature — tragedy,  com- 
edy, farce,  burlesque,  ballad,  and,  shall  I  add,  auto- 
biography ?  —  that  there  would  have  been  nothing 
singular  or  startling  in  his  attempting  one  more.  The 
novel  would  have  been  a  cumulative  addition  to  his 
fame.  In  Cobbett's  case  it  would  have  been  a  new 
and  perilous  departure.  It  might  have  injured  his 
more  serious  reputation  as  a  politician  and  a  contro- 
versialist.    Therefore  it  is  easily  comprehensible  that 

he  might  have  preferred  an  anonymous  form  of  pub- 

[xiii] 


31ntroDuctton 


lication,  which  would  throw  his  many  enemies  off  the 
track. 

Nevertheless,  second  thoughts  have  been  against 
this  assumption.  Cobbett  was  a  writer  of  English 
which  was  severely  and  academically  "good."  He  was 
the  author  of  an  excellent  grammar.  He  was  a  purist, 
in  short,  and  a  trained  man  of  letters. 

The  author  of  "John  Decastro,"  on  the  other  hand, 
gives  evidences  of  amateurishness  and  inexperience. 
He  writes  brilliantly  and  forcefully,  but  carelessly.  He 
has  occasional  difficulties  with  his  past  participles  and 
his  relative  pronouns.  His  sentences  are  often  long 
and  involved,  and  sometimes,  but  not  often,  unintelli- 
gible, through  sheer  clumsiness  in  the  handling. 

Likewise  he  exhibits  strange  ignorances.  One  in- 
stance must  suffice.  On  page  377  of  the  second  vol- 
ume in  this  edition  there  begins  "  The  History  of  John 
Colbourne."  That  scoundrel,  it  appears,  was  really 
one  Palestrozzi,  scion  of  a  wealthy  Florentine  family, 
who,  "bred  to  the  church,"  had  yet  been  simultane- 
ously engaged  to  a  young  lady,  the  daughter  of  a 
"clergyman."  Now  it  is  superogatory  to  point  out 
that  the  Catholic  was  the  only  extant  church  in  the 
Florence  of  the  early  eighteen  hundreds,  and  that  its 
"clergymen"  were  then,  as  now,  bound  to  celibacy. 
Cobbett,  the  author  of  a  "  History  of  the  Protestant  Ref- 
ormation," which  altogether  favors  Catholicism,  could 
never  have  made  this  mistake.     Colman,  who  knew 

just  enough  about  priests  and   friars  to  poke  occa- 
[xiv] 


iflntroDucttou 


sional  clumsy  fun  at  their  celibacy,  could  hardly  have 
made  it. 

In  short,  appearances  all  seem  to  indicate  that  "The 
History  of  Mr.  John  Decastro  "  was  the  first  effort  of 
some  singularly  robust  and  original  man  of  genius,  a 
student  of  men  rather  than  of  books,  but  by  no  means 
unread  in  the  latter,  a  person  probably  of  middle  age 
and  therefore  past  the  acute  period  of  vanity  and  self-de- 
ception, who  threw  it  upon  the  world  as  an  experiment, 
was  disappointed  at  its  apparent  ill  success  and  then 
retired  into  privacy,  leaving  unfulfilled  the  conditional 
promise  given  in  his  closing  paragraph  to  write  a 
sequel  containing  the  later  adventures  of  the  Decastro 
family. 

And  if  I  were  asked  the  reason  of  that  ill  success  I 

should  find  it  in  the  very  period  when  the  book  was 

published.     No  principle  of  selection  could  have  hit 

upon  a  more  unfortunate  time  than  the  spring  of  1815 

for  the  issue  of  an  English  book  by  an  unknown  or 

anonymous  author.     Napoleon  escaped  from  Elba  on 

February  26,  181 5;  he  was  defeated  at  Waterloo  on 

June  18, 1 81 5.    During  all  the  intervening,  and,  indeed, 

the  succeeding  months,  Great  Britain,  with  all  Europe, 

was  in  an  uproar.     Military  reputations  were  the  only 

reputations  that  were  being  made  in  that  period.    The 

public  had  no  time  for  reading.     Their  attention  was 

fixed  upon  the  mighty  drama  in  which  the  destinies  of 

the  world  were  involved. 

To  conclude  with  a  short  explanation  of  the  "edi- 
[xv] 


3JntroDuctton 


torial "  method  that  I  have  set  before  myself  in  this 
revival.  I  have  conceived,  in  the  first  place,  that  it  was 
no  part  of  an  editor's  duties  to  tamper  with  either  the 
soul  or  the  body  of  a  book  whose  vitality  must  preserve 
it  a  classic.  Daniele  da  Volterra  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury was  known  as  the  "  Breeches-maker,"  because  he 
continently  clad  a  few  of  the  naked  in  Michael  Angelo's 
great  fresco  of  "  The  Last  Judgment."  I  am  no  new 
Daniel  come  to  judgment.  Expurgation  is  emascula- 
tion, whether  it  be  practised  upon  Decastro  or  upon 
Shakespeare.  A  book  that  expresses  the  manners  of 
its  time  must  be  left  to  speak  in  its  own  manner.  This 
book  is  an  extraordinary  efflorescence  from  the  jovial, 
genial,  boisterous,  and  none  too  squeamish  Merry 
England  of  the  Georges.  There  is  impropriety,  but  no 
immorality  in  even  its  wildest  outbreaks. 

Indeed  our  friend,  the  contemporary  critic  of  the 
New  MontJily  Magazine,  especially  commends  its 
morality,  and  compares  it  favorably  in  this  respect 
with  another  anonymous  novel  that  had  come  out  in 
the  same  month — "  Guy  Mannering,"  to  wit — in  which 
he  discerned  great  genius,  but  an  unwholesome  pander- 
ing to  sensationalism. 

Even  a  classic,  however,  can  be  modernized  without 

losing  an  atom  of  its  essential  flavor.     Shakespeare 

himself  has  been  recast,  re-spelled,  re-punctuated.     In 

this  edition  of  "  John  Decastro  "  the  long  paragraphs 

which  fatigue  the  modern  eye  have  been  cut  into  two, 

into  three,  into  half  a  dozen.    The  dialogue  has  been 
[xvi] 


3flntroUtictton 


broken  up,  in  the  sensible  modern  fashion,  so  that  each 
speech  from  each  interlocutor  should  have  a  paragraph 
to  itself.  Here  and  there  turgid,  involved,  or  ambigu- 
ous sentences  have  been  straightened  out  into  intelligi- 
bility. Here  and  there  ugly  repetitions  have  been 
weeded  out.  Typographical  errors  have  been  corrected. 
Obsolescent  or  obsolete  words  and  phrases  have  been 
explained  in  footnotes. 

The  punctuation  has  been  modernized,  although  with 
an  extreme  care  that  the  cadence  of  the  sentences 
should  not  be  marred  by  too  close  an  application  of 
modern  rules.  For  punctuation,  where  it  is  the  au- 
thor's and  not  the  typo's,  has  its  effect  on  the  music 
of  style.  Even  a  comma  may  possess  its  phonetic 
value,  as  indicating  a  caesura  which  appeals  to  the 
writer's  ear. 

It  may  be  added  that  wherever  a  doubt  arose  in  the 
course  of  this  modernization,  that  doubt  was  resolved 
in  favor  of  the  original. 

In  fine,  it  has  been  the  aim  of  both  publisher  and 
editor  to  present  this  "  New  Ormonde  Edition "  of 
"The  History  of  Mr.  John  Decastro"  in  just  the  shape 
which  the  author  would  have  approved  were  he  still 
living  in  the  flesh. 

May  his  jocund  ghost  smile  upon  our  efforts ! 

William  S.  Walsh. 


[  xvii  J 


TO 

THE    RIGHT   HONOURABLE 


THE    EARL    OF  *  * 


*  *  *  * 


My  Lord:  We  have  received  your  lordship's  letter, 
together  with  the  manuscript  of  our  history,  and  beg 
to  return  you  many  thanks  for  the  few  alterations 
which  your  lordship  has  clone  us  the  honour  to  sug- 
gest :  your  being  present  at  certain  passages  and  trans- 
actions gave  your  lordship  an  advantage  over  us,  and 
we  take  it  very  kind  in  you  thus  to  have  given  us  the 
benefit  of  it.  Notwithstanding,  however,  your  lord- 
ship's communications,  there  still  remain  some  gaps  in 
our  history,  which  we  hope,  in  some  future  edition  of 
it,  to  have  it  in  our  power  to  fill  up. 

Your  lordship  has  done  us  the  honour  to  say  in  your 
letter,  that  you  "  not  only  give  us  your  permission,  but 
very  much  wish  that  the  work  be  dedicated  to  you  " ; 
and  that  for  this  reason,  viz. :  "  You  would  be  glad  to 
give  your  countenance  to  every  reprimand  on  great 
people  who  set  the  world  an  ill  example."  Your  lord- 
ship must  just  permit  us  to  say  that  this  is  very  noble 
in  you,  and  we  have  not  gone  so  far  as  to  name  your 
name,  lest  you  should  feel  yourself  too  much  praised 
in  public  by  this  quotation  from  your  letter:  now  in 
regard  to  praise,  we  very  well  know  that  your  lordship 
will  be  far  better  pleased  with  us  if  we  tell  you  of  your 

xix 


Dedication 


faults,  and,  to  show  how  readily  we  would  do  any  thing 
that  were  like  to  please  you,  we  will  name  one  in  your 
lordship,  you  are  too  much  ashamed  of  doing  a  good 
thing,  for  when  you  happen  to  be  detected  in  doing  one 
you  are  sure  to  be  put  out  of  countenance. — You  do 
ill,  my  lord,  in  taking  so  much  pains  to  hide  yourself : 
we  may  speak  the  more  boldly  since  we  name  not  your 
name — and,  in  order  to  it,  we  shall  add,  that  it  is  a  fault 
in  your  lordship  to  show  the  world  so  little  of  your  ex- 
ample :  you  do  not  do  your  duty  by  yourself  in  thinking 
so  meanly  of  yourself,  nor  by  your  neighbour  in  with- 
holding any  good  thing  from  him.  Your  lordship  says 
in  your  letter  that  "Nothing  is  more  wanted  than 
severe  reproof  and  good  example  amongst  great  folks," 
and,  that  "  Old  Crab  should  be  brought  to  London  and 
made  to  preach  at  St.  James's." — You  have  it  in  your 
power,  my  lord,  to  do  more  good  than  any  pulpit, 
though  planted  all  round  with  Old  Crab's  artillery,  you 
mix  very  much  with  great  folks  when  you  come  to 
town,  which  no  man  can  do  by  going  to  church  in  it. 
We  have  the  honour  to  subscribe  ourselves, 

My  Lord, 
Notwithstanding  all  your  faults, 
Nevertheless,  your  lordship's 
Very  humble  servants 

John  Mathers 

and 
The  Solid  Gentleman 


xx 


THE 

HISTORY  OF  MR.  JOHN  DECASTRO 


CHAPTER  I 

How  Mr.  Decastro  had  a  great  fortune,  but  too  little  money. 

If  Mr.  Decastro's  wants  were  his  masters  he  made 
but  a  very  bad  servant.  It  hath  been  said  to  be  no 
easy  matter  for  one  man  to  serve  two,  how  could  Mr. 
Decastro  be  expected  then  to  serve  two  thousand? 
He  did  his  best,  however,  for  some  time,  but  soon  got 
out  at  heel  and  out  at  elbow.  This  comes  of  letting 
mad  folks  go  loose  in  the  world.  Mr.  Decastro,  how- 
ever, had  now  and  then  a  lucid  interval,  and  by  the 
light  of  one  of  these  said  lucid  intervals  he  saw  one  day 
this  thing:  viz.  that  although  he  had  a  great  fortune 
he  had  too  little  money. 

Now  his  brother  Bartholomew,  a  man  of  a  sour  turn, 
and  upon  that  account  called  Old  Crab,  was  one  of 
another  kidney ;  he  had  a  little  fortune  and  too  much : 
so  they  did  their  best  to  keep  up  that  variety  which 
makes  this  world  so  very  pleasant.  Now  be  it  known, 
that  Old  Crab  took  his  brother's  rents  and  paid  his  bills 
for  him  as  far  as  money  went,  and  no  further,  and  that 
for  a  very  good  reason. 


Wqz  fyistoty  of  $®t.  31oljn  E>eca0tro 

"Brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab  one  day  to  him,  in 
a  loud  voice,  "  thou'rt  outrunning  the  constable." 

"Outrunning  the  devil!  brother  Bat,"  quoth  he. 

"No,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "not  the  devil,  but  the  con- 
stable :  to  outrun  the  devil  will  be  no  such  easy  mat- 
ter :  you  will  get  his  claws  on  your  back  one  day,  if  you 
have  not  a  care.  You  and  your  gang  have  been  kicking 
up  a  fine  dust  here  in  London,  this  last  year,  with  your 
balls,  cards,  and  fiddles,  and  the  devil  knows  what — I 
can't  pay  your  bills." 

"  Can't  pay  my  bills,  brother  Bat !  "  said  Mr.  Decas- 
tro,  with  a  great  stare. 

"No,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  rising  upon  his  toes,  as  his 
manner  was,  as  if  he  would  fly  at  a  man,  "  I  can't  pay 
your  bills,  I  say;  art  deaf,  John  ?  " 

"Better  be  deaf  than  hear  bad  news,"  quoth  he. 
"  How  stands  the  account,  brother  Bat  ?  " 

"  Five  thousand  pounds  upon  the  wrong  side,  brother 
John." 

Upon  which  Mr.  Decastro  doubled  his  fist,  gave  a 
great  knock  upon  the  table,  and  swore  seven  great 
oaths  that  came  out  of  his  mouth  as  if  he  had  taken  an 
emetic :  we  would  set  the  oaths  down  if  we  were  not 
afraid  to  raise  the  devil,  and  frighten  the  old  ladies. 

"  Don't  you  swear  sometimes,  brother  John  ?  "  quoth 
Old  Crab. 

"I  never  swore  an  oath  in  my  life,  brother  Bat."' 

"No!"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "what  d'ye  call  G—  d— 
my  blood  ?  " 

"An  unguarded  expression,"  quoth  Mr.  Decastro, 
and  fell  to  swearing  again  worse  than  before. 

"Brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  coming  in  between 
the  claps  of  thunder,  "hard  words  pay  no  bills;  it  were 

[*] 


(E^e  fristorp  of  a^r.  31otm  E>f£a0tio 

well  if  you  could  swear  yourself  out  of  debt,  but  that 
is  no  such  easy  matter:  a  word  with  you  by  and  by 
upon  swearing:  in  the  mean  time,  a  word  upon  your 
worldly  matters ;  you  have  an  income  of  twenty  thou- 
sand pounds  a  year,  and  cannot  make  both  ends  meet ; 
the  devil  is  in  it  if  this  be  not  enough  to  buy  meat, 
drink,  and  cloth,  for  a  man's  family  if  he  had  a  wife 
that  bred  like  a  rabbit : — you  have  only  two  children, 
brother  John,  and  have  got  some  gravel  in  your  shoes 
already;  you  will  get  into  jail,  you  blockhead." 

Mr.  Decastro  asked  him,  with  an  oath,  if  he  got  all 
the  rents  paid  in  the  north,  where  his  estates  lay. 

"Never  made  a  better  gathering,  John,"  quoth  Old 
Crab;  "there  was  a  little  behind  last  time,  but  all's 
paid  up  to  a  penny,  and  that's  more  than  your  trades- 
men can  say,  the  worse  luck  for  them,  brother  John." 

"  You  look  at  me  as  if  I  could  help  it,  brother  Bat ; 
if  there's  no  more  money  the  rascals  must  wait." 

"But  they  will  not  wait,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "they 
say  you're  a  young  man,  and  it  will  do  you  good  to  stop 
you  in  time." 

"They're  devilish  kind  when  their  own  interest  lies 
in  the  way  to  serve  a  man ;  they  will  arrest  me  ? " 

"  There  are  three  of  them  that  only  wait  to  see  me 
again,  brother  John,  and  if  I  come  empty-handed  they 
will  put  executions  into  your  house,  they  bade  me  tell 
you  s<>." 

"A  civil  message!  "  said  Mr.  Decastro. 

"A  civil  fool's  head!"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "I  tell  you 
1  have  got  no  more  money,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  drive  the 
disease  from  one  joint  to  another,  borrow?  " 

"  What's  five  thousand  pounds  to  a  man  of  my  pro- 
pertv?"  said  Mr.  Decastro;  "It  is  but  the  prick  of  a 

[3] 


tEtje  J?t0tor^  of  $£t\  3|cljn  a^eca0tro 

pin,  though  it  smarted  a  little  at  first;  borrow  the 
money,  brother  Bat,  and  pay  the  scoundrels  directly." 

"I  have  done  it,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "it  was  but  to 
return  it  if  you  did  not  agree  to  it." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so,"  said  Mr.  Decastro; 
"  what  is  the  good  of  making  a  man  fret  ?  " 

"  Some  bad  liquors  get  better  by  fretting ;  I  had  a 
mind  to  try  the  experiment  upon  your  constitution," 
quoth  Old  Crab.  "  Now,  look  you,  brother  John,  I 
have  promised  to  pay  this  money  back  again  next  year 
with  five  per  cent,  interest,  so  that  will  come  upon  the 
shoulders  of  the  next  year,  it  will  add  to  the  weight  of 
the  next  year's  expenses — this  by  way  of  memorandum, 
be  frugal."  Old  Crab  was  a  parson,  so  a  little  preach- 
ing came  very  well  in  character.  "Brother  John," 
said  he,  "  you  have  got  a  sad  trick  of  swearing,  leave 
it  off,  it  is  vulgar  and  wicked." 

"It  may  be  vulgar,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "but  it  gives 
a  man  ease,  and  many  other  vulgar  things  do  the  like : 
but  as  to  being  wicked,  nobody  knows  what  that  word 
means  but  you  parsons." 

"Dost  know  the  reason?  "  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "what  is  it? " 

"  Because,  brother  John,  thou  art  an  ass." 

"You  parsons,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "tell  men  they 
are  wicked,  as  doctors  tell  men  they  are  sick,  and  sell 
as  much  nauseous  stuff  for  the  soul  as  they  do  for  the 
body,  to  answer  the  same  end,  videlicet,  to  pick  peo- 
ple's pockets." 

"The  more  fool  you,  brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab, 
"to  call  in  both  the  physician  and  the  parson  when 
you  lay  sick  of  a  fever :  but  more  of  this  another  time. 
1  leave  London  to-morrow  for  the  north,  so  give  us 

[4] 


tEfjf  ftistorp  of  £0i\  31ol)tt  HDrcastro 

thine  hand,  brother  John :  be  careful ; — and  remember 
these  words :  "  upon  which  Old  Crab  took  a  bit  of  chalk 
out  of  his  pocket,  and  wrote  the  following  short  sen- 
tence upon  a  large  mahogany  door,  in  letters  big 
enough  for  a  man  to  creep  through, 

'•  Be  Frugal," 

and,  shaking  hands  with  his  brother  John,  left  the 
room. 


[5] 


CHAPTER  II 

How  Mrs.  Decastro  called  the  Butler  to  get  the  Chalk  wiped 
off  the  Door — Some  Account  of  Old  Crab — How  Mrs. 
Decastro  loved  him  as  the  devil  loves  Holy  Water — What 
happened  when  Old  Crab  came  to  Town  the  next  year. 

As  soon  as  Old  Crab  was  gone  out  of  the  room  Mrs. 
Decastro  came  into  it,  for  she  heard  him  go,  and  so 
might  any  who  could  hear  a  clap  of  thunder;  for  his 
loud  voice,  his  thick  boots,  and  his  heavy  oaken  towel,* 
made  altogether  a  monstrous  noise. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  said  she,  looking  at  the  chalk  on 
the  door.  Upon  which  Mr.  Decastro  explained  mat- 
ters. 

"What  a  vulgar  beast  it  is,"  said  she,  which  compli- 
ment was  meant  for  Old  Crab.  "  I  wish,  my  dear,  you 
would  get  something  in  the  likeness  of  a  human  being 
to  do  your  business  for  you,  and  turn  this  huge  bear 
out  of  the  house."  Old  Crab  was  a  man  of  vast 
stature. 

"Can  you  find  an  honest  man,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Decastro,  "  that  will  take  all  the  trouble  for  nothing  as 
brother  Bat  does  ? " 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  had  rather  pay  and  be  cheated 
than  be  plagued  with  that  great  bear.  Petticraft  the 
attorney  offered  his  services  when  we  began  house- 
keeping, take  Mr.  Petticraft  and  turn  Old  Crab  out." 

*A  now  obsolete  slang  term  for  a  cudgel.  Similarly,  a 
lead  towel  was  a  bullet.  See  Century  Dictionary  under 
"towel."— Editor's  Note. 

[6] 


(Dtjc  history  of  39r.  Jolm  SDfcastro 

"We  had  best  not  be  more  nice  than  wise,''  said  Mr. 
Decastro,  taking  his  wife  by  the  chin,  as  his  custom 
was.  "  Brother  Bat  is  a  little  rough,  but  he  has  our 
interest  at  heart,  and  is  an  honest  man;  he  lives 
amongst  my  tenants  too,  knows  all  the  customs  and 
rules  of  the  estates,  their  value,  their  boundaries,  the 
laws  of  all  the  manors,  and  of  all  landed  property ;  is 
an  excellent  farmer  and  has  an  eye  to  the  management 
of  my  lands ;  all  my  tenants  respect  and  fear  him,  and 
dare  as  soon  eat  their  fingers  as  use  me  or  my  property 
ill  while  he  looks  after  it : — turn  Brother  Bat  out! — I 
shall  turn  myself  out  if  I  do.  He  takes  all  the  trouble 
for  nothing,  will  not  take  one  penny  for  his  pains; 
think  of  that,  my  dear." 

"  I  hate  Old  Crab  as  bad  as  the  devil,"  said  she ;  "  he 
never  comes  into  the  house  but  he  sets  all  our  teeth  on 
edge  for  a  month !  railing  and  scolding  and  calling  to 
order,  as  if  he  was  father  of  us  all.  Your  father  never 
could  abide  him,  or  he  would  not  have  disinherited  him, 
and  gave  all  to  you,  my  dear." 

"  It  was  a  rash  act  in  my  father,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
"  though  we  come  in  for  the  advantage  of  it ;  my  father 
was  hot,  and  Bat  would  speak  his  mind.  No  man 
could  do  more  to  be  revenged  on  a  son  than  disinherit 
him;  but  no  man  could  feel  it  less  than  brother  Bat. 
He  is  content  to  live  upon  a  little,  and  even  finds  that 
little  too  much ;  he  rents  a  good  farm  of  me  it  is  true, 
but,  besides  that,  he  has  nothing  but  the  small  rectory 
of  Oaken  Grove  which  I  gave  him,  and  he  puts  by  a 
penny  for  his  daughter  every  year,  notwithstanding." 

"Aye,"  said  Mrs.  Decastro,  "  such  a  pinchback  would 
live  upon  a  flint  and  save  money  by  skinning  it  at  the 
year's  end ;  that  it  is  which  sets  him  a  snarling  at  us 

[7] 


GTi)e  Jjistorg  of  ^r.  3fiolm  2Deca$tro 

that  live  in  the  world  like  other  folks.  Mr.  Perrings," 
said  she,  calling  to  the  butler  who  was  in  the  next 
room,  "  send  a  housemaid  with  some  soap  and  water 
to  wash  this  door,  here  is  some  filth  or  other  upon  it." 
The  butler  looked  at  the  door  and  left  the  room  with 
a  smile. 

A  few  words  more  upon  Old  Crab.  He  was  the  eld- 
est son  of  old  Mr.  Decastro  by  a  former  wife,  and 
though  he  was,  from  the  harshness  of  his  manners  and 
the  hard  favour  of  his  visage,  called  Old  Crab,  he  was 
not  at  this  period  more  than  five-and-forty.  His  hu- 
mour was  to  abuse  a  man  to  his  face  and  do  him  a  good 
turn  behind  his  back.  He  was  disinherited  by  his 
father,  as  hath  been  said,  upon  a  quarrel,  and  sent  to 
be  educated  at  Gottingen  in  Germany ;  in  which  uni- 
versity he  became  so  great  a  scholar  that  many  whose 
reputations  lay  that  way  could  have  found  in  their 
hearts  to  have  cut  his  throat.  But  such  was  his  cast 
of  temper  that  he  was  as  much  feared  as  admired.  He 
stood  in  awe  of  none,  bold  in  speech,  and  laid  about 
him  if  any  gainsaid  him,  without  respect  of  persons. 
All  allowed  that  he  was  a  great  ornament  to  the  uni- 
versity, but  many  secretly  wished  him  hanged  with  all 
their  souls.  He  got  expelled  from  this  place  for  a 
satire  written  in  the  Latin  tongue  upon  some  of  the 
ruling  men  in  the  university.  On  his  arrival  in  Eng- 
land he  found  his  father  and  mother  both  dead.  His 
father's  fine  feelings  for  the  dignity  of  the  family  made 
him  a  good  allowance  abroad,  out  of  which  he  had,  in 
the  course  of  a  few  years,  saved  enough  to  stock  a  farm 
which  he  took  of  his  brother  at  Oaken  Grove  in  Cum- 
berland, where  much  of  the  family  possessions  lay. 
He  had  written  several  books  in  the  Latin  and  German 

[8] 


®\)t  $?iaton>  of  ^r.  31otm  E>ecastro 

languages,  which,  having  been  translated  and  published 
in  England,  had  gained  him  much  repute  before  he 
came  back  to  his  native  country :  one,  a  tract  in  divin- 
ity, took  the  attention  of  the  Bishop  of ,  who  gave 

him  a  hint  by  means  of  a  friend,  that  if  he  would  take 
orders  he  would  get  his  brother  to  give  him  the  living 
of  Oaken  Grove.  His  rude  and  savage  manners 
offended  most  people  who  did  not  know  him,  and  some 
who  did ;  but  he  was  a  man  that  abounded  in  good 
qualities,  and  was  of  great  service  to  many  both  in  his 
own  family  and  out  of  it. 

He  brought  home  with  him  a  Swiss  lady,  whom  he 
had  married,  a  very  excellent  woman,  by  whom  he  had 
ten  children,  one  of  which  only,  and  that  the  youngest, 
lived,  her  name  was  Julia,  who  far  excelled  her  very 
handsome  mother  in  beauty,  of  whom  we  shall  have 
something  more  to  say. 

Bartholomew  Decastro,  alias  Old  Crab,  was  a  very 
strict  and  good  divine,  but  preached  rather  satires  than 
sermons,  and  would  scold  his  congregation.  In  addi- 
tion to  his  learning,  which  was  admirable,  he  had  great 
store  of  useful  knowledge  in  all  worldly  matters,  and 
certainly  saved  his  brother  John,  and  his  brother-in-law 
the  Earl  of  Budemere,  from  ruin.  Old  Crab  would  be 
as  much  out  of  humour  with  himself  as  with  others,  if 
not  more  so;  he  used  to  say,  the  man  that  pleaseth 
himself  pleaseth  a  fool.  No  man  held  money  in  more 
contempt  than  he ;  it  gathered  about  him,  however,  as 
if  in  spite  of  him,  such  was  the  economy,  such  the  fru- 
gality of  him  and  his  excellent  wife.  Fortune  put  some 
temptations  in  his  way,  but  Old  Crab  growled  at  her 
whenever  she  held  out  her  favours.  He  was  a  good 
farmer,  and  made  a  great  deal  of  money  of  the  land 

[9] 


t&tjf  tymoty  of  Spr.  2fjotm  SDecastro 

which  he  rented  of  his  brother  John.  His  farm  was  as 
neat  as  a  garden,  and  his  house  as  clean  as  a  penny ; 
for  what  he  was  abroad  his  wife  was  at  home,  who  was 
almost  the  only  person  he  never  quarrelled  with.  She 
was  as  sweet  as  sugar,  he  as  sour  as  vinegar ;  and,  odd 
as  it  may  look,  they  were  a  very  affectionate  couple. 

One  thing  more : — on  New-Year's  day  Old  Crab  held 
what  he  called  his  Guinea  Feast.  Every  farthing 
which  he  owed  in  the  world  was  punctually  paid  be- 
fore the  31st  of  December,  and  on  the  1st  of  January 
he  always  invited  his  friends  to  dine  with  him,  when 
there  arose  a  little  erection  in  the  middle  of  the  table 
with  a  small  stage  at  the  top  of  it  made  of  glass,  upon 
which  a  golden  guinea  was  mounted  in  the  sight  of  all, 
with  a  little  label  put  round  it,  on  which  was  written, 
in  letters  of  gold, 

"This  Guinea  is  my  own!" 

At  Lady-day  *  Old  Crab  always  came  to  London  to 
pay  his  brother's  bills,  manage  his  aunt  Biddy's  money 
matters,  and  a  variety  of  other  business. 

A  year  had  now  passed  since  he  had  seen  his  brother 
John,  and  when  he  came  to  London  he  found  him  a 
thing  a  great  deal  more  worth  looking  at  than  he  was 
a  year  ago,  for  he  looked  a  great  deal  more  like  a  fool, 
and  that's  a  thing  which  is  not  seen  above  once  in  an 
hundred  years.     When  Old  Crab  came  to  London  he 


*  March  25th,  the  feast  of  the  Annunciation.  In  England 
the  day  has  lost  most  of  its  religious  importance  since  the 
Reformation,  but  has  enjoyed  financial  consideration  for 
centuries  as  the  first  quarter-day  in  the  year  for  rents  and 
other  payments.  The  other  pay-days  are  Midsummer,  June 
24th,  Michaelmas,  Sept.  29th,  and  Christmas. — Editor's  Note. 

[10] 


tEljr  ioistotv  of  tTf)r.  31otm  EDfcaatro 

always  put  up  at  the  Old  Hummums  in  Covent  Gar- 
den, a  place  where  a  man  may  have  what  sleep  he  likes 
but  no  victuals.  How  came  this  when  his  brother  had 
a  house  in  town  ?  Mr.  Decastro's  hours  did  not  at  all 
suit  Old  Crab.  How  came  this  when  Old  Crab's 
brother-in-law,  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  had  a  house  in 
town?  Lord  Budemere' s  hours  did  not  suit  Old  Crab, 
neither  was  his  company  much  to  his  liking.  Now 
if  Mr.  Decastro  had  played  the  devil  the  year  before, 
he  had  played  the  devil  and  his  dam  in  the  last,  that  is 
to  say  he  and  his  wife  together,  who,  instead  of  making 
the  memorable  sentence  which  Old  Crab  chalked  up 
on  the  drawing-room  door  the  rule  of  their  conduct, 
and  a  better  was  not  to  be  seen  upon  the  door  at  Del- 
phos,  had  squirted  money  away  like  kennel  water. 
Old  Crab  soon  found  how  matters  had  gone  on,  so  he 
put  his  brother's  money  into  the  banker's  hands,  and, 
having  clone  what  he  had  to  do,  he  left  London  and  his 
brother  John  to  settle  their  accounts  as  well  as  they 
could.  Petticraft  the  lawyer  was  the  first  man  to  smell 
a  rat,  who  ran  to  Mr.  Decastro's  house  with  an  empty 
bag  in  his  hand  to  fetch  the  five  thousand  pounds 
which  had  been  borrowed  of  him,  and  five  per  cent, 
now  growing  thereupon.  After  Petticraft  had  got 
wind,  for  he  had  run  himself  out  of  breath,  Mr.  Decas- 
tro and  he  thus  talked  together,  videlicet : 

"  What  d'ye  want,  Mr.  Petticraft  ?  " 

"  I  want  my  money,  sir." 

"  What's  that  to  me  ?  go  to  my  brother." 

"  Go  to  the  devil !  your  brother  will  not  pay  any 
more  bills." 

"  Not  pay  any  more  bills ! " 

"  Not  pay  any  more  bills." 


&i)t  $?t0tor£  of  spr.  3|ol)n  HDecastro 

"Who  put  that  into  your  head ? :' 

"He  did,  he  told  me  so  himself: — and  you  too,  I 
warrant." 

"  I  have  not  seen  him." 

"  Then  you  are  not  like  to  see  him ;  he  is  gone  out  of 
town : — I  am  come  to  you  for  my  money." 

"You  have  brought  your  pitcher  to  the  wrong 
pump:  I  want  money  as  bad  as  you." 

"  I  will  have  my  money." 

"  I  must  have  it  before  I  can  pay  it.  My  brother's 
gone  out  of  town !  " 

"  Yes : — he  bade  me  tell  the  tradespeople  that  they 
might  come  to  you  for  their  money  if  they  wanted  it 
— he  would  pay  no  more  bills :  so  I  thought  I  had  as 
good  come  for  my  money  first  and  tell  them  the  news 
afterwards:  the  news  comes  pleasantly  from  a  man 
who  has  got  nothing  upon  his  mind.  Your  brother 
told  me  that  he  had  left  your  money  at  the  old  place — 
give  me  a  check  upon  your  banker — there  is  one  ready 
drawn,  you  need  only  put  your  name  in  the  corner." 

Mr.  Decastro  did  so,  and  Petticraft  left  the  house 
with  a  glad  heart  and  a  cheerful  countenance ;  but  he 
carried  all  the  gladness  out  of  the  house  and  left  none 
for  Mr.  Decastro,  who  fell  into  a  fit  of  the  dumps.  If 
a  man's  wife  cannot  cheer  him  up,  and  make  him 
merry,  who  can  ?  In  came  Mrs.  Decastro  and  asked 
her  husband  if  he  had  got  the  belly-ache  ? 

"  Curse  the  belly-ache,"  said  he. 

"Aye,"  said  she,  "this  comes  of  drinking  such 
strong  green  tea  for  your  breakfast." 

Upon  which  she  rung  the  bell,  and  ordered  Mr. 
Perrings  to  bring  his  master  a  glass  of  brandy:  the 
butler  returned  in  a  moment  with  a  glass  of  brandy  put 

[12] 


tElje  fyistoxy  of  £©r.  31oljn  SDefastro 

upon  a  silver  waiter  worth  a  thousand  guineas:  who 
could  not  have  taken  a  dose  of  physic  off  such  a  waiter 
and  smacked  his  lips  after  it  ?  As  soon  as  the  brandy 
came  within  the  length  of  Mr.  Decastro's  leg  he  kicked 
the  waiter  and  the  brandy  fifteen  feet  high  and  called 
Mr.  Perrings  a  scoundrel. 

Now  there  was  great  ringing  and  knocking  heard  at 
Mr.  Decastro's  street  door,  bills  came  in  like  a  storm 
against  a  wall,  and  Mr.  Decastro  drew  upon  his  banker 
like  a  dragon ;  at  last  he  drew  a  bill  which  the  banker 
could  not  answer,  and  for  this  reason,  viz.  he  had  no 
more  money :  so  the  man  who  came  last  drew  a  blank, 
and  he  was  not  the  only  one.  Mr.  Decastro  had  not 
paid  half  what  he  owed  before  the  cat  was  gone  and 
her  skin  too,  as  folks  say.  It  would  have  puzzled  a 
wiser  man  than  Mr.  Decastro  to  pay  a  bill  without 
money,  so  those  whom  he  could  not  pay  in  money  he 
paid  in  promises ;  a  sort  of  payment  that  is  not  in  full 
of  all  demands.  Now  what  Mr.  Decastro  had  not  in 
him  people  could  not  get  out  of  him,  so  a  great  many 
of  the  civilest  of  his  tradesmen,  for  the  saucy  ones 
came  first,  were  forced  to  sit  down  gentlemen  of  the 
future  tense,  videlicet,  those  that  shall  or  will  be  paid. 

Time  ran  on  as  fast  as  Mr.  Decastro  ran  in  debt,  and 
brought  round  another  year  with  all  the  incumbrances 
of  the  former  two  upon  its  back  added  to  its  own.  At 
Lady-day  Old  Crab  came  as  usual,  paid  his  brother's 
rents  into  the  banker's  hands,  and  left  town  without 
seeing  him ;  he  had  already  seen  more  than  was  good 
of  him.  When  a  man  gets  well  into  the  mud  the  ex- 
ertion one  uses  to  draw  one  leg  up  sinks  the  other  still 
deeper  than  it  was  before.  This  was  Mr.  Decastro's 
case,  for  the  first  step  he  took  when  he  got  his  money 

[13] 


t£tie  fpisutty  of  £0t*  Jflotm  S>eta0tre 

from  the  north  was  to  pay  the  civil  men  who  had  been 
so  polite  as  to  take  promises  instead  of  cash  the  last 
year ;  now  when  these  were  all  paid  there  was  nothing 
left  for  the  saucy  ones,  who  came  about  Mr.  Decastro's 
head  and  ears  like  a  nest  of  hornets.  Old  Crab  had  an 
eye  upon  his  brother,  and  knew  how  he  was  going  on. 

"  Nothing  will  cure  this  crack-brained  coxcomb  but  a 
good  smarting,"  quoth  he ;  "  John  is  not  in  parliament 
this  time,  for  the  electors  did  not  get  drunk  and  of 
course  did  not  choose  him,  so  the  next  visit  I  pay  him 
may  be  in  jail." 

Petticraft  the  lawyer  told  Old  Crab  how  matters 
went  on  from  time  to  time 


[«4] 


CHAPTER  III 

How  Old  Crab  changed  his  mind — His  talk  with  his  Brother 
John — How  Mrs.  Decastro  beat  the  breath  out  of  her  Hus- 
band's body. 

Another  Lady-day  came  and  brought  Old  Crab  to 
London  as  of  old : — 

"  How  stand  matters  with  brother  John? "  quoth  he 
to  Petticraft. 

"  He  has  left  off  playing  the  devil,"  quoth  Petticraft, 
"  to  play  a  worse  game." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  the  blockhead  is  mending 
his  hand,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Go  once  more  to  the  house  and  see  what  can  be 
done  for  him,"  said  Petticraft;  "I  have  borrowed 
money  for  him  or  he  had  been  put  into  jail." 

"  So  you  said  last  year,"  quoth  Old  Crab ;  "  hast  bor- 
rowed any  more  since  that  time  ? " 

"I  have,"  said  Petticraft,  "and  more  the  last  time 
than  ever  I  did  before." 

"  How  much  ? "  said  Old  Crab. 

"Ten  thousand  pounds,"  said  Petticraft. 

"Very  good,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "this  makes  fifty 
thousand  pounds  ? " 

"It  does,"  said  he. 

"Well,"  said  Old  Crab,  "I  will  go  and  call  on  the 
blockhead  once  more,  and  try  if  I  can  get  him  into  my 
plans." 

Upon  which  Old  Crab  went  to  his  brother's  house, 

[»s] 


tEtjc  Jjistorp  of  $$t.  3|ot)n  SDecastro 

and  raising  his  oaken  towel  gave  the  door  three  bangs 
that  shook  the  garrets.  Mrs.  Decastro,  and  her  sister- 
in-law,  Lady  Budemere,  who  were  sitting  at  their 
breakfast,  said  the  Park  and  Tower  guns  were  firing, 
and  Mrs.  Decastro  rang  the  bell  to  ask  what  news  were 
come.  A  footman,  for  Mr.  Decastro  kept  a  world  of 
servants,  who  ran  up-stairs  to  answer  the  bell,  opened 
the  door  and  let  Old  Crab  into  the  room.  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro and  Lady  Budemere  started  out  of  their  chairs  at 
his  appearance,  and  looked  like  two  people  that  were 
very  much  terrified. 

"Sit  still  and  eat  your  victuals,"  quoth  Old  Crab; 
"  where's  brother  John  ?  I  would  speak  a  word  with 
him  if  you  can  find  him." 

"He  is  getting  up,"  said  Mrs.  Decastro,  "we  expect 
him  to  come  to  breakfast  presently." 

"  Getting  up ! "  quoth  Old  Crab ;  "  why,  'tis  almost 
two  o'clock ;  does  the  fellow  lie  in  bed  all  day  ? " 

Mr.  Decastro  now  came  in,  and  whether  the  ladies 
had  finished  their  breakfast,  or  not,  we  could  never  get 
any  good  intelligence ;  we  think  it  most  prudent,  there- 
fore, to  say  nothing  about  the  matter;  they  made  the 
best  of  their  way  out  of  the  room,  however,  and  left 
Mr.  Decastro  and  Old  Crab  at  each  other's  mercy. 
When  a  man  comes  into  a  room  and  finds  a  thing  in 
it  which  he  never  expected  to  see,  he  falls  into  great 
astonishment. 

"  Brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  without  giving  him 
time  to  recover  his  senses,  "you  are  going,  I  find,  upon 
a  full  gallop  to  the  devil ;  I  am  come  here  to  stop  you 
one  moment  upon  the  road,  just  to  ask  you  one  ques- 
tion before  you  take  the  last  plunge :  have  you  or  have 
you  not  a  mind  to  be  saved  from  perdition  ? " 

[16] 


W$t  fytstoty  of  spr.  31otjn  EDecastro 

"  I  have,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  letting  his  lower  jaw 
fall  and  looking  as  white  as  a  sheet. 

"Then,"  said  Old  Crab,  "you  must  get  out  of  Lon- 
don." 

"Get  out  of  London!"  said  he,  "where  would  you 
have  me  go  ? " 

"  Why,  not  into  that  fool's  paradise,  Gimcrack  Hall, 
in  Berkshire ;  come  into  the  north  and  live  amongst 
your  tenants,  where  a  landlord  ought  to  be,  in  the  old 
family  castle  at  Oaken  Grove:  I  have  taken  care  to 
keep  the  place  from  falling  to  pieces,  a  little  money 
would  make  it  comfortable,  and  as  for  the  furniture  it 
is  none  the  worse." 

"  I  shall  not  be  able  to  live  in  such  a  great  place," 
said  he,  "  I  am  afraid  to  tell  you  my  reasons." 

"It  is  very  like,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "but  out  of  this 
place  you  shall  come,  and  out  of  your  profligate  gang 
here,  that  will  eat  you  out  of  house  and  home  and  laugh 
at  you  when  they  have  done,  if  the  devil  come  out  of 
hell  to  pull  against  me ;  I  am  come  to  a  mind  not  to 
stand  by  and  see  you  ruined :  so  I  told  your  lawyer  I 
would  change  my  mind,  and  come  once  more  to  see  if 
any  thing  can  be  done  for  you." 

"  O  brother  Bat ! "  said  Mr.  Decastro,  covering  his 
eyes  with  his  hand,  "you  are  come  too  late,  I  am 
ruined  already !  I  don't  know  what  it  is  that  I  owe, 
and  am  afraid  to  ask ! — But  I  cannot  come  into  the 
north." 

"You  shall  come  into  the  north,"  thundered  Old 
Crab,  "if  I  carry  you  there  upon  a  pitchfork!  The 
old  family  castle  shall  not  be  forsaken ;  say  me  nay, 
and  I  will  break  your  bones  to  save  your  soul  and  body 
from  everlasting  damnation :  come  into  the  library,  we 

[17] 


®A)z  tetoti?  of  S^r.  3|ol)n  SDecastro 

shall  have  the  women  here  presently,  I  would  have  a 
little  talk  with  you." 

Upon  which  Old  Crab  seized  his  brother  by  the  arm, 
as  a  kite  would  a  lark  by  the  wing,  and  off  he  carried 
him,  with  as  much  ease,  into  the  library.  Having  shut 
the  door,  he  read  him  a  lecture  that  lasted  two  hours, 
the  subject  of  which  was  profligacy,  atheism,  and  bad 
company.  Few  men  like  to  be  told  of  their  faults : 
Mr.  Decastro,  however,  was  prepared  for  his  lecture, 
for  he  had  sometime  found  that  his  life  was  wrong, 
which  was  proved  by  an  argument  that  few  could 
contradict— the  ill  effects  of  it.  Old  Crab  scolded  furi- 
ously at  the  vices  of  the  age,  and  went  so  far  as  to  call 
a  great  many  of  Mr.  Decastro's  friends  the  devil's 
imps.  He  objected  to  his  brother,  his  balls,  masque- 
rades, concerts,  conversations,  and  card  parties  on  Sun- 
day nights,  and  told  him  that  full  houses  made  empty 
pockets :  to  prove  the  truth  of  which  Mr.  Decastro  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  just  to  put  his  hands  into  his 
own.  In  regard  to  his  affairs,  Old  Crab  told  him  that 
he  knew  enough  to  say  that  his  house  in  town  and  his 
country-seat  in  Berkshire  must  be  sold,  but  how  much 
of  the  property  in  the  north  must  be  sacrificed  he  could 
not  tell. 

"  Ah  brother  Bat !  "  said  Mr.  Decastro,  with  a  rueful 
countenance,  "when  you  come  to  know  how  many 
fathom  deep  I  am  in  debt  you  will  find,  when  all  is 
paid,  we  may  run  naked  into  the  woods  and  live  upon 
pig-nuts.  Live  amongst  my  tenants !  when  all  my  bills 
are  paid  I  may  live  amongst  other  people's  if  I  can  get 
any  bread  to  eat ;  but  you  will  have  no  easy  matter  to 
bring  me  to  live  amongst  my  own." 

"Brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "we  cannot  tell 
[18] 


t&t)t  tytstorg  of  spr.  3ioljn  ©ecascro 

how  bad  matters  may  be  till  we  come  to  probe  your 
wounds ;  your  estates  will  be  sadly  mangled  I  doubt ; 
but  I  have  one  thing  to  tell  you,  out  of  London  you 
must  go,  or  your  body  will  be  laid  by  the  heels  in  it." 

"O,  I  am  a  ruined  man!"  said  Mr.  Decastro;  and 
clapping  his  hands  one  on  each  side  of  his  head,  with 
his  elbows  raised  in  a  straight  line  from  his  shoulders, 
and  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling,  he  had  a  mind  to  make  his 
way  out  of  the  room  through  a  door  of  solid  oak  which 
his  wife  opened  just  in  time  to  prevent  his  dashing 
his  head  against  it,  not  a  little  astonished  at  meeting 
her  husband  in  the  odd  attitude  aforesaid.  She  stept 
aside  or  he  would  have  run  her  down,  and  forth  he 
marched  like  one  frantic. 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Decastro,  star- 
ing at  Old  Crab ;  "  I  wish  you  would  get  you  gone  into  the 
north,  you  never  come  here  but  you  disturb  my  family." 

"  When  the  house  is  on  fire  'tis  high  time  to  disturb 
the  family,"  quoth  he. 

"House  on  fire!"  said  she,  "what  do  you  mean  by 
that  ? " 

"  Mean !  why,  you  and  your  husband  have  made  the 
house  too  hot  to  hold  you — so  you  must  turn  out,  ma- 
dam," quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Turn  out !  "  said  she. 

"Turn  out,"  quoth  he  in  a  thundering  voice. 

One  cannot  see  in  the  dark  certainly,  but  when  one 
gets  too  much  light  it  is  just  as  bad  the  other  way;  so 
one  cannot  hear  any  thing  when  there  is  no  noise,  and 
when  there  is  a  great  deal  one  is  struck  deaf,  which 
was  Mrs.  Decastro's  case  at  this  moment,  for  Old  Crab 
spoke  loud  enough  to  be  heard  from  London  to  St.  Al- 
ban's.     Mrs.  Decastro  was  struck  dumb,  too,  as  well  as 

[i9] 


<P)e  piston?  of  spr.  31oljn  SDecastro 

deaf,  for  she  said  nothing.  She  had  a  magnificent  house 
in  town,  and  the  words  "  turn  out "  gave  her  a  fit  of  the 
colic.  Eve  cried  when  she  was  turned  out  of  Paradise 
for  none  of  her  best  qualities;  but  if  she  had  been 
turned  out  of  such  a  .fine  house  as  Mrs.  Decastro  en- 
joyed in  Grosvenor-square  she  would  have  gone  mad. 

Old  Crab  went  on  to  give  some  reasons  why  she 
must  turn  out,  but  spoke  too  loud  to  be  heard.  The 
human  faculties  have  an  odd  way  of  accommodating 
themselves  to  emergencies,  which,  after  a  little,  was  the 
case  with  Mrs.  Decastro's  ears.  Old  Crab  told  her 
that  she  and  her  husband  had  run  to  the  end  of  their 
string : — that  their  vices  began  to  knock  at  their  doors : 
— that  pay-day  was  come; — and  that  what  Mr.  Decas- 
tro could  not  pay  in  money  he  must  pay  in  land  and 
houses.  He  told  her  that  they  had  kept  more  company 
than  the  house  would  hold,  for  there  was  no  longer  any 
room  for  the  master  and  mistress  in  it ;  and  ended  as 
he  began  that  she  must  turn  out.  These  words  were 
spoken  by  Old  Crab  in  a  voice  as  loud  as  thunder;  it 
was  quite  impossible  for  Mrs.  Decastro,  and  to  give 
her  her  due  she  made  several  attempts,  to  interrupt 
him ;  her  voice  might  as  well  be  heard  at  the  falls  of 
Niagara:  but  as  soon  as  there  was  a  pause,  she  jumped 
up  from  off  a  sofa  on  which  she  had  flung  her  body  in 
a  passion,  and  told  Old  Crab  that  he  had  come  into  the 
house  on  purpose  to  turn  it  out  o'  window,  that  all  he 
had  said  was  false,  and  ended  her  speech  with  calling 
him  a  great  bear !  At  that  word  she  bounced  out  of 
the  room ;  and,  making  a  furious  exit,  casting  an  eye 
of  vengeance  on  Old  Crab,  ran  full  upon  her  husband's 
stomach,  who  came  into  the  room  at  that  moment,  and 
beat  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 

I>3 


CHAPTER  IV 

How  Mr.  Decastro  called  in  his  debts — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro's  Skill  in  Arithmetic — Mr.  Decastro  runs  away  in  the 
middle  of  the  Night. 

We  left  Mr.  Decastro  at  the  end  of  the  last  chap- 
ter without  any  breath  in  his  body,  being  violently 
struck  by  Mrs.  Decastro's  person  without  being  much 
in  love  with  her — he  got  a  terrible  knock — what  a  sad 
thing  it  is  sometimes  for  a  man  and  wife  to  come 
together ! 

"What  d'ye  think  of  that,  brother?  "  quoth  Mr.  De- 
castro, sucking  up  his  breath. 

"Think!"  quoth  Old  Crab,  with  a  grin  of  indigna- 
tion, "why,  T  think  there  are  so  many  fools  in  the 
house  that  one  can't  open  a  door  without  tumbling 
over  another.     What  brings  you  back  ?  " 

"  I  am  come  to  ask  what  had  best  be  done  ? " 
said  he. 

"Done!"  quoth  Old  Crab..  "Why,  you  must  call 
your  debts  in,  and  when  you  have  found  what  you 
owe,  you  must  look  what  you  have  got  to  pay  them 
with." 

Mr.  Decastro  was  a  very  good  sort  of  a  gentleman 
in  the  main,  but  he  had  this  one  fault  among  others, 
viz.,  he  was  very  obstinate,  not  in  the  right,  for  that 
would  not  have  been  so  bad,  but  in  the  wrong,  and  that 
was  not  so  well.  Old  Crab,  seeing  what  a  fine  trade 
his  brother  was  driving,  had  advised  with  him  from 

[21] 


Gtyt  Oistorp  of  $$r.  31ot)n  SDecastro 

time  to  time  to  leave  London  and  come  into  the  north ; 
but  all  he  could  do  or  say  was  equally  in  vain,  he  had 
as  good  pull  against  a  mountain  that  were  rolling  down 
a  precipice.  Give  a  wild  horse  his  head  and  he  will 
sometimes  stand  still  of  his  own  accord.  Old  Crab 
tried  this  plan  with  his  brother,  but  with  this  differ- 
ence— he  threw  something  in  his  way  to  frighten  him, 
which  was  his  ruin  in  this  world  and  another.  This 
world,  however,  was  the  most  to  Mr.  Decastro's  pur- 
pose at  present,  the  other  seemed  to  be  too  far  off  to 
have  many  terrors,  so  Old  Crab  spurred  his  creditors 
on,  who  came  about  him  in  a  full  gallop  like  a  troop  of 
horse,  and  charged  him  with  their  bills  in  a  very  gal- 
lant manner ;  having  done  which  Old  Crab  left  Lon- 
don, and  orders  with  Petticraft  to  tell  him  how  matters 
went  on. 

Mr.  Decastro  took  his  brother's  advice  for  once  and 
made  a  great  calling  for  accounts.  Now  a  bill  is  a 
thing  that  will  come  without  a  man's  calling  his  heart 
out  after  it.  Mr.  Decastro,  however,  made  a  most 
monstrous  calling  all  on  a  sudden,  and  his  creditors 
began  to  think  that  he  had  found  a  great  pot  of  money 
somewhere,  and  everybody  would  be  paid  twenty  shil- 
lings in  the  pound  down  upon  the  nail,  This  acted  like 
a  paregoric  for  a  little  time,  but  only  served  to  make 
them  more  restless  afterwards.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro were  seated  in  the  library,  and  every  farthing  which 
they  owed  on  earth  lay  in  mountains  of  paper  upon  the 
table  before  them. 

"  Now,  my  clear,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "  I  would  give 
a  penny  to  know  what  it  is  that  I  owe  in  all." 

There  had  been  a  little  blunder  made  in  Mr.  Decas- 
tro's education,  for  it  chanced  that  amongst  all  other 

[22] 


^\)i  mimty  of  &3r.  3|otm  DrcaBtro 

useful  things  he  had  not  been  taught  arithmetic.  To 
do  justice  to  his  parents,  however,  a  writing-master  was 
sent  for,  and  he  was  put  to  accounts.  Hearing  him 
cry,  his  mother  came  in  one  day,  and  asked  what  was 
the  matter  ?  "  Master  don't  like  figures,  madam,"  said 
the  schoolmaster.  "  You  have  not  been  whipping  my 
child,  I  hope,  sir?"  said  his  mother.  "No,  madam," 
said  he.  "Nasty  figures,"  said  she;  so  the  writing- 
master  was  sent  out  of  the  house,  and  his  mother  filled 
the  boy's  mouth  with  sugar-candy. 

"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Decastro  to  his  wife,  "I  would 
give  a  penny  to  know  what  it  is  that  I  owe  in  all :  sup- 
pose we  go  to  work,  and  see  if  we  can  make  it  out  be- 
tween us  " ;  and  to  work  they  went  one  morning,  and 
soon  got  into  such  a  puzzle  that  they  scarce  knew  their 
right  hand  from  their  left !  Having  heard  that  won- 
derful things  come  from  great  exertions,  they  went  to 
work  again  after  dinner,  and  kept  on  summing  until 
five  o'clock  the  next  day,  when  they  came  to  a  grand 
total  which  frightened  them  both  out  of  their  wits ;  f or 
they  had  made  it  out  that  Mr.  Decastro  owed  more 
money  than  would  pay  off  the  national  debt.  Mrs. 
Decastro  wrung  her  hands ;  Mr.  Decastro  gave  himself 
a  dismal  blow  on  the  forehead,  and  they  went  to  bed 
very  well  satisfied  in  one  thing,  viz.,  that  they  were 
ruined. 

The  morrow  happened  to  be  Sunday,  a  day  in  which 
all  tradesmen's  shops,  and  books,  and  mouths  are  shut 
as  far  as  business  and  money  matters  go,  which  made 
it  a  day  of  rest  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro,  who  thought 
they  might  as  well  sleep  in  their  beds  as  at  church,  so 
they  staid  at  home  and  slept  soundly  without  the  help 
of  a  sermon.    This  made  Mr.  Decastro  fresh  for  the 

[*3] 


tEtie  fyistoty  of  tyt.  3floljtt  SDecastro 

affairs  of  the  next  night,  when  he  put  some  things  into 
a  portmanteau  in  the  middle  watch,  took  a  servant  and 
a  couple  of  horses,  and  rode  out  of  the  gayest  city  in 
the  world  as  if  it  had  been  all  on  fire,  leaving  a  note  to 
inform  Mrs.  Decastro  that  he  was  gone  on  business 
into  the  north. 


L*24] 


CHAPTER  V 

How  Mr.  Decastro  was  converted  to  Christianity — How  Mrs. 
Decastro  sat  upon  thorns  in  London — A  description  of 
Oaken  Grove. 

Mr.  Decastro  had  been  twice  at  church  in  his  life 
— when  he  was  christened,  and  when  he  was  married, 
which  was  once  more  than  most  of  his  acquaintance. 
As  for  religion  he  never  thought  about  it,  and  none  of 
his  friends  ever  put  it  into  his  head,  or  took  it  into 
their  own,  except  Old  Crab — but  more  of  this  pres- 
ently. 

We  must  now  attend  Mr.  Decastro  upon  his  journey, 
on  which,  whatever  leather  he  might  lose,  he  lost  no 
time.  He  had  an  excellent  horse,  and  his  groom  as 
good,  and  they  galloped  away  like  smoke  before  the 
wind.  After  a  great  deal  of  galloping  they  galloped  at 
last  into  Old  Crab's  farm-yard. 

"  Brother  John,"  quoth  he,  putting  his  head  out  of 
window,  "  what  the  devil  brought  you  here  ? " 

"  Look  ye,  brother  Bat,"  said  he,  "  if  ever  I  go  to 
London  again  I  will  gallop  through  hell  to  it ! — I  have 
been  ruined  in  it :  I  have  called  in  all  my  bills  and  cast 
up  all,  and  if  my  estates  were  ten  times  as  many  and 
fifty  times  the  worth,  and  all  sold  at  the  best  hand, 
they  would  not  pay  half  of  what  I  owe ! — Hide  me, 
brother  Bat,  hide  me  from  the  world !  for  I  am  a  beg- 
gar." 

At  which  words  the  poor  gentleman  wept.     Old 

[«5] 


Wqt  Ip&torp  of  9j*r.  Jotm  EDrcastro 

Crab  knew  his  brother  to  be  in  some  very  great  mis- 
take, but  was  willing  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  said : 
"  Look  you,  brother  John,  this  comes  of  not  taking  my 
advice  in  time :  if  those  words  which  I  chalked  up  upon 
your  door,  some  years  ago,  had  been  made  the  rule  of 
your  conduct,  you  had  no  cause  to  sit  by  my  fireside 
with  your  stupid  head  between  your  knees  sniv'ling 
like  a  blockhead." 

"  Do  not  abuse  a  man  in  distress,  brother  Bat,"  said 
he,  sobbing.  "  O  that  you  had  never  been  disinherited ! 
O  that  I  had  never  come  to  the  estates !  I  might  have 
lived  frugally,  like  you,  upon  a  little,  and  never  come 
to  want  and  beggary ! " 

"  Hold  up  your  head,  you  fool,  and  answer  me  some 
questions :  you  have  called  in  your  debts,  you  say,  and 
cast  up  all  that  you  owe ;  what  is  the  total  ? " 

When  Mr.  Decastro  named  the  sum  Old  Crab  fell  a 
laughing.  Mr.  Decastro  said  it  was  inhuman  to  laugh 
at  his  miseries,  however  he  might  deserve  them  all. 

"You  blockhead,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "you  are  only  fit 
to  be  laughed  at ;  you  have  called  in  your  debts  you 
say,  and  cast  all  up;  have  you  taken  any  steps  towards 
the  payment  of  them  ? " 

"  None,"  said  he ;  "  for  seeing  the  impossibility  of  my 
ever  being  able  to  pay  one  half  of  them,  I  ran  away 
from  my  creditors  in  the  night.  O  brother  Bat,  tell 
me  what  it  is  that  you  are  worth,  for  I,  my  wife,  and 
my  two  babes  must  depend  on  you  for  our  bread! 
Your  farm  must  be  sold — the  creditors  will  have 
all." 

"If  my  farm  is  to  be  sold  1  will  buy  it,"  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "and  if  your  creditors  come  here  I  will  break 
their  bones." 

[26] 


&\)t  frigtoty  of  99r.  31otyn  EDccastto 

"You  buy  it!'''  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "how  can  you 
buy  it?" 

"That's  neither  here  nor  there,"  quoth  Old  Crab; 
"  I  have  put  a  penny  by,  but  that's  neither  here  nor 
there. — I'll  break  their  bones,  I  tell  you,  if  they  come 
here,  a  pack  of  tawdry  scoundrels  that  are  ruining  their 
own  families  to  live  like  such  profligate  dogs  as  your- 
self! Come,  John,  hold  up  your  head  and  dry  your 
tears ;  if  you  will  promise  to  follow  my  advice,  I  may 
do  something  for  you  which  you  little  expect:  have 
you  brought  your  papers  with  you  ? " 

"  I  have,"  said  he,  staring  eagerly  at  Old  Crab,  as  a 
drowning  man  at  one  who  holds  out  a  hand  to  save 
him. 

"Well,  we  will  look  into  them  after  dinner,"  which 
was  now  put  upon  the  table,  "and  see  how  matters  will 
be,"  said  Old  Crab. — "  Come,  John,  draw  your  chair, 
here's  a  round  of  beef  of  my  own  feeding,  you  are 
heartily  welcome — let  us  have  no  more  sniv'ling." 

Mrs.  B.  Decastro  now  came  in,  and  her  daughter 
Julia,  about  ten  years  of  age,  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
little  girls  that  ever  was  seen.  Old  Crab's  wife  and 
daughter  were  new  to  Mr.  Decastro,  for  this  was  the 
first  visit  that  he  had  ever  paid  his  brother  in  the  north. 
He  had  not  felt  himself  so  much  at  his  ease  for  some 
time,  and,  notwithstanding  the  sore  places  in  his  mind, 
he  fell  to  the  boiled  beef,  carrots,  cabbage,  and  pota- 
toes, and  ate  like  a  man  that  had  come  off  a  long  jour- 
ney. The  neatness  and  comfort  of  Old  Crab's  house, 
and  his  calm  and  cheerful  fireside,  where  the  crackling 
of  the  billets  made  all  the  disturbance,  very  much 
soothed  Mr.  Decastro's  troubled  spirit,  and  he  felt  like 
a  sailor  who  had  got  into  a  snug  harbour  after  the  driv- 

[»7] 


W$t  totori?  of  £pr.  3Hol)n  HDecastto 

ing  and  tossing  of  some  dreadful  storm.  He  was  much 
pleased  with  the  soft  engaging  manners  of  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro,  and  little  Julia  did  every  thing  she  could  to  make 
her  uncle  welcome.  As  soon  as  the  maid-servant  had 
taken  the  dinner  away,  which  consisted  of  a  noble 
round  of  beef,  vegetables,  and  a  hot  apple-pie,  "  Come, 
brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "I  have  no  Burgundy 
or  claret  for  you,  but  can  bring  you  a  bottle  of  as  good 
old  port  as  any  in  England,  and  what  will  give  it  a  bet- 
ter relish,"  added  he,  drawing  the  cork,  "it  is  paid  for." 

That  touched  poor  Mr.  Decastro  in  one  of  his  sorest 
places ;  he  took  a  glass  of  wine,  however,  by  way  of  a 
cordial,  and  said  he  had  never  tasted  a  better  in  any  of 
the  best  taverns  in  London. 

"Now,  brother  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "we  will 
come  to  business.  I  never  keep  any  secrets  from  my 
wife,  so  you  may  speak  your  mind  before  Rachel." 

Little  Julia,  who  had  begun  to  look  to  the  dairy,  now 
made  her  courtesy  and  retired  to  her  occupation.  Mrs. 
B.  Decastro,  a  woman  of  tender  feelings,  often  shed 
tears  while  Old  Crab  and  his  brother  were  talking 
their  matters  over.  The  papers  were  now  opened,  and 
Old  Crab  soon  made  an  entry  of  all  Mr.  Decastro's 
debts  in  a  fair  copy-book,  but  did  not  at  that  time  point 
out  the  blunders  in  his  brother's  calculations,  willing 
to  make  the  best  of  his  terrors,  and  turn  them  to  his 
advantage. 

The  time  of  the  year  was  now  at  hand  for  Old  Crab's 
journey  to  London,  and  he  began  to  prepare  matters 
accordingly:  and  we  think  Old  Crab  placed  no  little 
confidence  in  his  wife's  virtue  to  leave  a  man  of  good 
person  and  of  such  loose  principles  as  Mr.  Decastro  in 
his  house  during  his  absence,  which  was  like  to  be  of 

[28] 


GHje  distort!  of  03r.  31o^u  SDctastro 

longer  duration  that  time  than  it  had  ever  been  before 
upon  account  of  his  brother's  affairs.  Now  to  have 
seduced  his  brother's  wife  at  the  very  moment  he  was 
engaged  in  his  service,  and  that  of  so  much  importance 
too,  were  just  the  very  sort  of  gratitude  which  a  man 
of  the  world  was  in  duty  bound  to  show  his  friend :  and 
what  is  the  use  of  friendship  if  all  things  are  not  com- 
mon among  friends?  Mr.  Decastro,  however,  was 
never  more  remiss  in  any  matter ;  one  reason  might  be, 
and  a  very  extraordinary  one  it  was,  Reader,  that  be- 
fore Old  Crab  set  out  for  the  south  a  very  remarkable 
event  took  place,  which  was  none  other  than  the  con- 
version of  Mr.  Decastro  to  Christianity,  for  he  had 
much  talk  with  his  brother  on  religious  matters,  which 
ended  in  bringing  him  over  to  the  Christian  faith ;  and 
indeed  Mr.  Decastro  had  hitherto  been  little  better 
than  an  atheist.  Now  having  so  many  good  things 
about  him  he  certainly  had  as  much  to  be  thankful  for 
as  any  man,  and  that  makes  for  the  wonder  of  the  mat- 
ter that  the  richest  men  should  be,  for  the  most  part, 
the  least  religious.  That  a  man  who  hath  the  most 
good  things  in  this  world,  should  be  the  least  thankful, 
looks  a  little  odd ;  but  Mr.  Decastro  never  said  "  thank 
ye  "  for  any  thing  that  heaven  had  been  so  good  as  to 
give  him.  He  had  been  christened,  it  is  true,  and  god- 
fathers and  godmothers  had  promised  and  vowed  very 
good  things  in  his  name,  but  it  had  been  to  very  little 
purpose ;  he  was  as  much  an  heathen  as  the  dog-ribbed 
Indian. 

Old  Crab  had  touched  him  upon  religious  matters 
before  now,  but  could  never  get  him  in  a  mind  to  lend 
an  ear  to  grave  stuff,  as  he  used  to  call  religion  with  a 
sneer,  which  none  made  any  account  of  but  such  as 

[>9j 


1&ty  $?tstor£  of  ®0t.  3f|otjn  SDecastro 

filled  their  pockets  and  their  bellies  by  it,  and  was  fain 
to  leave  him  after  a  few  bitter  invectives.  Some  men 
are  made  good  upon  the  spur  of  evil,  or,  at  least,  are 
often  predisposed  by  it  to  become  so ;  and  Old  Crab 
did  not  let  slip  so  favourable  an  opportunity  to  round 
his  brother  a  little  in  the  ear  upon  this  subject  at  the 
present  moment.  Mr.  Decastro,  amongst  other  unfor- 
tunate qualities,  had  a  very  high  conceit  of  his  own 
abilities,  which  led  him  to  conclude  that  if  he  met  with 
an  argument  which  he  could  not  answer,  nobody  else 
could  do  it.  Old  Crab  made  his  advantage  of  this 
matter,  and  so  ill  a  thing  as  self-conceit  was  seldom 
brought  to  so  good  a  use.  Old  Crab  opened  a  plan  of 
works  against  his  brother's  infidelity,  and  brought  his 
artillery  to  bear  upon  his  profligate  and  vicious  life,  and 
beat  down  every  defence  of  his  conduct  by  charging 
his  brother  home  with  the  ill  effects  of  it,  who  soon 
found  himself  too  much  within  shot  to  stand  his  ground 
for  a  moment  upon  this  subject. 

In  regard  to  religious  matters,  Mr.  Decastro  began 
to  argue  with  his  brother  at  first,  but  soon  ran  aground, 
and  no  wonder,  where  more  able  men  than  himself  had 
come  to  a  stand  before  him.  He  stared  at  Old  Crab 
like  one  in  amazement,  and  began  to  think  him  a  very 
extraordinary  person  who  could  bring  so  many  argu- 
ments into  the  field  which  he  could  no  more  conquer 
than  overthrow  mountains.  It  may  look  a  little  odd 
that  Mr.  Decastro  should  owe  his  conversion  to  Chris- 
tianity so  much  to  his  self-conceit :  but  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  every  argument  must  needs  be  true  which 
he  could  not  prove  to  be  false.  Old  Crab  followed  him 
up  and  brought  him  at  last  to  listen  to  his  instructions 
with  all  the  silent  attention  of  a  child. 

[3o] 


tHje  piston?  of  spr.  3iotm  Dccastro 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  these  parsons  had  so  much  to  say  for  themselves  " ; 
and  began  to  think,  and  wisely  enough,  that  it  would 
be  no  disparagement  to  his  abilities  to  be  convinced  by 
the  same  arguments,  and  believe  in  the  same  things 
which  a  Newton,  an  Addison,  and  a  Locke,  had  been 
convinced  by,  and  believed  in,  before  him.  Old  Crab 
now  put  some  good  books  into  his  brother's  hands, 
which  gave  great  furtherance  to  his  arguments,  and  left 
him  to  meditate  upon,  and  to  digest,  what  had  been 
said.  He  then  set  off  for  London,  armed  at  all  points, 
to  meet  Mr.  Decastro's  creditors. 

The  talking  about  London  puts  us  in  mind  that  we 
have  left  a  distressed  lady  in  that  gay  city,  to  whose 
relief  Old  Crab  was  coming,  like  a  knight  errant,  with 
all  speed.  Now  a  lady  in  distress  is  usually  pitied  by 
most  men  and  some  women;  a  good  deal,  however, 
depends  upon  the  sort  of  distress,  and  the  manner  in 
which  it  comes:  it  came  to  pass  in  Mrs.  Decastro's 
case,  that  she  not  only  got  no  pity  from  many,  but 
some  were  heartily  glad  to  hear  that  her  husband  was 
run  away  from  his  creditors  and  was  ruined ;  and  so 
kind  were  many  that  they  not  only  did  not  wish  that 
her  troubles  were  less,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  wished 
they  were  ten  times  as  many:  this  was  a  little  ill- 
natured,  it  was  nevertheless  very  true  for  all  that. 

To  explain  this,  the  splendour  of  Mr.  Decastro's  for- 
tune, the  magnificence  of  his  establishment,  and  the 
grandeur  of  his  entertainments,  raised  him  high  enough 
in  the  world  of  all  conscience  if  he  could  have  been 
content  without  bringing  pride  to  top  the  building. 
That  thing  gave  folks  much  offence;  add  to  which  a 
saucy  triumph  over  others,  who,  in  an  attempt  to  rival 

[3i] 


W$i  J?t0tori?  of  spr.  Ifloijn  EDecastro 

his  extravagance,  either  ruined  or  lamed  their  fortunes, 
or  gave  up  a  contest  with  much  bitterness  of  heart  to 
which  they  found  themselves  unequal.  Thus  the 
ground  was  forelaid  for  great  rejoicings  when  Mr. 
Decastro's  foot  should  slip,  and  many  rejoiced  with  ex- 
ceeding great  joy  accordingly. 

Mrs.  Decastro,  as  soon  as  it  came  to  be  known  that 
her  husband  was  run  away,  did  not  care  how  little  peo- 
ple looked  at  her,  and  though  she  shut  herself  up  in 
her  house  was  never  at  home  in  it.  Sundry  reports 
came  abroad  concerning  Mr.  Decastro ;  some  said  he 
had  not  only  made  his  escape  out  of  London,  but  out 
of  the  world,  that  he  had  put  a  pistol  to  his  head  and 
blown  his  brains  out ;  others,  that  he  had  fought  a  duel 
with  one  of  his  creditors  who  had  blown  his  brains  out 
for  him  and  saved  him  that  trouble;  others,  that  he 
had  run  away  from  his  wits  as  well  as  his  creditors,  and 
was  clapt  up  in  a  dark  room  and  a  strait  waistcoat. 
There  were  other  reports,  and  no  wonder,  when  so 
many  tongues  were  in  motion,  but  these  shall  content 
us  at  present.  In  regard  to  her  person,  Mrs.  Decastro 
was  so  far  safe  from  all  assaults  of  the  law,  which 
comes  down,  like  other  things,  with  all  its  vengeance 
upon  the  poor  husband's  head,  and  never  meddles  with 
the  wife ;  and  though  man  and  wife  are  one  flesh,  yet 
when  the  husband's  flesh  is  put  into  jail,  the  wife's 
flesh  is  left  out  for  some  reason,  though  the  fault  may- 
be more  in  her  flesh  than  his. 

When  Old  Crab  came  into  the  house,  he  found  mat- 
ters in  it  at  sixes  and  sevens ;  servants  grumbling  for 
want  of  their  wages,  butchers  refusing  meat,  bakers 
bread,  coal-merchants  coals,  and  all  roaring  for  money 
like  mad ;  and  when  it  was  known  that  Old  Crab  was 

[32] 


3^t)c  l?t0tor£  of  $pr.  3|oi)n  EDeca0tro 

come  again  into  his  brother's  matters,  it  was  expected 
that  he  would  be  pulled  in  pieces,  and  he  certainly 
would  if  he  had  been  a  bank-note.  But  he  did  not 
come  with  "  I  promise  to  pay  "  written  upon  his  person. 
Old  Crab  was  a  man  who  never  made  any  such  rash 
promises  in  these  cases ;  he  had  not  been  in  the  house 
an  hour,  however,  before  he  had  twenty  men  upon  him 
with  bills  in  their  hands.  He  lifted  his  oaken  towel, 
drove  them  before  him  like  dust,  and  told  them  there 
might  be  five  shillings  in  the  pound  for  the  rascals  for 
any  thing  he  knew,  but  would  not  give  his  word  for 
that.  The  sight  of  the  old  paymaster,  however,  gave 
the  creditors  great  hopes.  The  first  thing  Old  Crab 
did  when  he  came  to  town  was  to  sell  his  brother's 
house  in  Grosvenor-square,  which  he  did  for  ready 
money,  to  one  Lord  Delamere,  of  whom  Mr.  Decastro 
bought  it. 

The  house  had  been  pawned  to  Mr.  Decastro  for  a 
play-debt  in  which  his  wife  was  concerned,  when  Lord 
Delamere  getting  into  troubled  waters,  Mr.  Decastro 
paid  his  lordship  the  difference,  at  that  time  much  in 
want  of  money,  and  took  the  house — and  this  to  be 
revenged  upon  his  lordship  upon  a  quarrel,  for  he  in- 
stantly turned  him  and  his  family  into  the  street.  This 
was  not  much  to  Mr.  Decastro's  credit,  but  as  all  know 
it,  'tis  in  vain  to  say  more  or  less  about  the  matter: 
things  turn  about  in  this  world  and  come  strangely 
home  to  a  man's  own  door:  a  rich  uncle  died  and  left 
Lord  Delamere  a  good  fortune.  Money  was  now  at 
ebb  with  Mr.  Decastro  and  at  flow  with  his  lordship, 
who  had  now  an  abundance,  so  he  was  glad  of  an  op- 
portunity to  regain  his  own  family  house,  and  be  re- 
venged in  his  turn  upon  Mr.  Decastro's  family. 
3  [33] 


t&ty  tytetorg  of  Sj&r.  31oljn  SDecastro 

Old  Crab  knew  all  this,  and  did  not  fish  the  waters 
in  vain  for  Lord  Delamere,  who  gave  him  his  price  at  a 
word,  and  the  means,  if  need  might  be,  of  getting  Mrs. 
Decastro  speedily  out  of  London ;  for  it  was  his  inten- 
tion to  take  her  and  the  children  back  with  him  into 
the  north :  so  the  house  was  sold  over  Mrs.  Decastro's 
head,  and  she  none  the  wiser,  and  that  to  the  bitterest 
enemy  she  had  in  the  world. 

When  Old  Crab  came  to  the  door,  he  gave  it  three  or 
four  hard  bangs  with  his  great  oaken  towel,  as  usual, 
and  asked  for  Mrs.  Decastro,  when  the  man  who  an- 
swered the  knocker  said  his  mistress  was  not  at  home. 

"  You  lie,  you  scoundrel !  "  quoth  Old  Crab ;  "  tell 
her  I  am  come,  or  I  will  break  your  bones." 

Upon  which  the  footman,  seeing  the  oaken  towel 
raised  over  his  head,  dashed  away,  and  Old  Crab 
walked  up  stairs  after  him,  and  found  Mrs.  Decastro 
sitting  with  the  children  and  in  tears.  He  bade  her 
prepare  to  go  back  with  him  into  the  north,  but  she 
refused  to  leave  the  house.  Women  are  apt  to  be  ob- 
stinate sometimes,  but  it  is  very  foolish,  and  if  men  are 
so  too,  they  are  none  the  wiser  for  that. 

"  What  am  I  to  do  in  the  north  ?  "  said  she. 

"It  is  no  matter,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "you  will  know 
when  you  come." 

"  Her  husband  might  run  where  he  liked,"  she  said, 
"  but  none  should  turn  her  out  of  that  house,  for  her 
money  bought  it,  and  her's  it  was." 

This  was  true,  for  her  fortune  was  sold  out  of  the 
funds  to  pay  Lord  Delamere  the  balance,  but  her 
money  lay  under  no  tie. 

"  We  will  talk  a  little  about  that  when  I  come  out  ol 
Berkshire,"  said  he. 

[34j 


1&i)c  iyi&toty  of  2©r.  3lo^)n  SDccastro 

"What  arc  you  going  to  do  in  Berkshire?"  said 
she. 

"1  am  going  to  sell  the  estate  there,"  said  he,  "to 
help  to  pay  your  debts." 

"Is  there  enough  to  pay  them,"  said  she,  "when  all 
is  sold  ? '" 

"You  will  be  wiser  when  you  know,"  quoth  Old 
Crab;  "but  I  came  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  take  you 
and  the  children  back  with  me  into  the  north,  when  I 
come  out  of  Berkshire ;  so  pack  up  your  tatters  and  be 
ready." 

While  Old  Crab  was  in  Berkshire  it  came  to  Mrs. 
Decastro's  ears,  where  bad  news  would  come  some- 
times, that  her  house  had  been  sold,  and  that  Lord 
Delamere  had  bought  it.  This  intelligence  turned 
Mrs.  Decastro  into  stone:  and  it  would  have  been  well 
if  this  petrifaction  had  held  her,  for  then  she  would 
have  felt  nothing,  for  a  stone,  some  say,  has  no  feel- 
ing: but  flesh  and  blood  unluckily  came  again  and 
brought  back  those  nice  feelings  which  are  a  sad 
trouble  to  some  folks.  She  was  now  in  great  terror, 
and  sent  letters,  and,  at  last,  one  by  express,  after  Old 
Crab  into  Berkshire ;  she  expected  every  hour  to  be 
turned  out  goods  and  chattels  and  all  into  the  street. 
Poor  lady,  she  sat  upon  thorns,  and  there  we  must 
leave  her,  not  having  any  easier  cushion  at  present  to 
put  underneath  her.  Women  find  the  use  of  men 
sometimes,  though  they  can  scarcely  ever  give  them  a 
good  word;  and  it  is  fit  they  should  for  being  so  saucy. 

Old  Crab  and  Mrs.  Decastro  had  never  been  the  best 
of  friends;  for  Mrs.  Decastro  was  a  very  fine  lady  and 
a  very  extravagant  one  too,  and  that  was  a  sort  of  thing 
which  Old  Crab  was  never  much  in  love  with.     He 

[35) 


1&\)t  fristorv  of  £Bt.  3|oljn  2Decastro 

would  cast  up  her  milliners,  mantua-makers,  perfum- 
ers, lacemen,  embroiderers,  furriers,  silkmen,  artificial- 
florists,  florists,  confectioners,  dentists,  gold-smiths, 
silver-smiths,  jewellers,  and  other  the  like  bills,  with 
many  grins  of  indignation,  and  tell  her  she  would  come 
to  ruin  and  a  jail,  if  she  could  shower  down  gold  out  of 
her  petticoats  as  often  as  she  had  a  mind  to  shake  her- 
self. She  was  allowed  but  a  thousand  pounds  a  year 
for  her  pin-money,  she  said,  and  if  men  pinched  their 
wives  in  that  manner  they  must  expect  outstanding 
bills  for  necessaries  which  no  woman  on  the  face  of  the 
earth  can  do  without.  Old  Crab  must  be  very  unrea- 
sonable, indeed,  not  to  be  satisfied  with  this  answer: 
he  did  nothing  but  growl  at  her,  however,  and  took 
leave  to  say  that  "  many  a  mail  kept  himself  and  his 
wife  and  a  family  of  ten  children  upon  less  money,  and 
owed  no  more  than  he  could  pay  at  the  year's  end." 

"  She  had  heard  of  more  being  done  by  less,"  she 
said,  "  in  old  story-books,  but  miracles  had  little  to  do 
with  the  present  times ;  it  were  very  like,  indeed,  that 
a  country  parson  that  lives  in  a  pig-stye,  should  know 
what  was  enough,  or  what  was  not  enough,  for  the  ex- 
penditure of  a  woman  of  distinction." 

"  Miracles  have  very  little  to  do  with  the  present 
times,  that  may  be  true,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "or  who 
knows  but  you  might  come  to  set  folks  a  good  exam- 
ple ?  But  the  devil  has  lain  so  long  in  your  body,  that 
it  would  be  no  easy  matter  to  turn  him  out  of  his  old 
lodgings,  and  still  less  so  to  keep  him,  when  he  was 
cast  out,  from  running  back  again  to  his  old  quarters." 

Thus  Old  Crab  and  Mrs.  Decastro  would  spit  sul- 
phur at  one  another  for  an  hour  together,  and  whatever 
love  Old  Crab  might  have  for  her,  she  very  certainly 

[36] 


W^t  i^isftort!  of  99r.  31oljn  2Deca$tro 

loved  the  devil  a  great  deal  more  than  she  did  Old 
Crab.  But  now,  though  she  had  told  him  that  she 
hated  the  sight  of  him  a  thousand  times,  she  had  taken 
such  a  liking  to  him  all  on  a  sudden  that  she  even  sent 
a  man  and  horse  express  to  fetch  him  out  of  Berkshire, 
as  soon  as  a  man  could  come. 

Mrs.  Decastro  had  taken  it  into  her  head  that  she 
had  a  great  many  friends  in  London,  but  as  soon  as  her 
husband  was  said  to  be  a  beggar,  and  she  no  better, 
she  had  a  very  hard  matter  to  find  one.  Prosperity 
makes  friends,  but  adversity  tries  them. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro's  friends,  however,  were  very 
much  like  water,  the  very  first  hole  that  was  made  in 
Mr.  Decastro's  estate  out  they  all  ran  at  it :  current 
friends,  though  not  sterling,  that  came  with  money  and 
went  with  money ;  they  stuck  to  Mr.  Decastro's  gold 
like  dirt  upon  a  guinea,  that  comes  with  it  and  goes 
with  it ; — and  the  best  friend  at  last  that  they  had  to 
their  backs  was  Old  Crab,  a  rough  piece  of  stuff,  but 
sound  stuff.  Old  Crab  was  solid  silver,  many  other  of 
their  friends  were  but  plated ;  after  a  little  use  their 
surface  got  rubbed  off,  and  they  showed  their  base 
metal. 

Mr.  Decastro  had  a  very  fine  property  in  Berkshire, 
and  a  noble  mansion  built  on  one  part  of  it,  but  Old 
Crab  could  not  so  readily  find  a  purchaser  for  it  as  he 
did  for  the  house  in  town ;  he  sold  a  good  slice  of  it, 
however,  to  a  neighbour,  but  still  had  eighty  thousand 
pounds  worth  left  upon  his  hands ;  which  he  disposed 
of  in  the  following  manner :  He  had  a  little  orphan 
put  under  his  care,  named  Genevieve  de  Roma,  a  sis- 
ter's only  child,  whose  parents  were  dead.  Her  father, 
who  was  a  Jew,  had  amassed  much  wealth  in  the  In- 

[37] 


tElje  ftitftori?  of  $)r.  2f|ot)n  2Decastro 

dies,  and,  dying,  left  it  all  in  ready  money  to  his 
daughter,  to  the  amount  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  The  prudent  Jew,  knowing  Old  Crab,  ap- 
pointed him  her  guardian  and  trustee,  leaving  orders 
that  seventy  or  eighty  thousand  pounds  should  be  laid 
out  in  land  for  her  use.  Old  Crab  saw  this  would  be 
a  good  opportunity;  the  land  was  excellent,  and  the 
house  new  (for  Mr.  Decastro's  father  had  built  it),  and 
situate  in  a  county  which  some  have  called,  and,  per- 
haps, with  some  truth,  the  Garden  of  England. 

Lord  Delamere,  in  want  of  a  house  in  the  country, 
took  it  on  a  good  lease  of  Old  Crab,  and  the  business 
in  Berkshire  was  done :  he  was  now,  therefore,  at  lei- 
sure to  read  Mrs.  Decastro's  letters ;  when,  telling  the 
man,  who  came  express  with  the  last,  to  get  along  back 
again  to  town,  and  say  he  was  coming,  he  mounted 
the  box  of  a  stage-coach  and  soon  made  his  words 
good. 

On  his  return  to  London  he  found  Mrs.  Decastro  in 
a  sad  taking.  She  had  had  a  fit,  but  was  recovered, 
for  one  told  her  that  Lord  Delamere's  carriage  was  at 
the  door;  which  was  a  lie,  and,  perhaps,  the  only  one 
that  was  ever  told  in  London.  It  was  a  wonder  it  did 
not  make  greater  disturbance.  Mrs.  Decastro,  how- 
ever, was  so  astonished  at  it  that  she  fell  into  a  fit. 

"  O  sir,"  said  she,  upon  Old  Crab's  entrance,  "  I  am 
glad  you  are  come !  O  what  a  dreadful  situation  I  am 
in!" 

"If  you  don't  like  it,"  said  he,  "you  may  change  it 
for  another." 

"What  right  have  you,  sir,"  said  she,  taking  fire,  "to 
sell  my  house  ?  Was  not  the  whole  of  my  fortune  sold 
out  of  the  funds  to  the  last  shilling  to  buy  it  ? " 

[38] 


(Etje  fl?istory  of  99r.  3]otm  EDceastro 

"  What's  the  woman  brawling  at  ?  "  quoth  Old  Crab ; 
"  your  fortune  was  not  put  under  your  direction  and 
appointment  when  brother  John  got  a  license  to  tie  an 
ass  and  a  fool  together.  You'd  better  hold  your 
tongue  till  you  can  talk  about  what  you  understand, 
woman ! " 

"If  the  house  must  be  sold,"  said  she,  "what,  in  the 
name  of  heaven,  did  you  sell  it  to  Lord  Delamere 
for?" 

"  Seventy  thousand  pounds,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  I  think  I  shall  go  distracted,"  said  she,  if  raving 
can  be  called  speaking,  "  you  know  what  I  mean — the 
man  is  my  enemy — he  will  turn  me  into  the  street." 

"I  know  it,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "and  sold  it  to  him  to 
choose,  and  for  that  purpose." 

"  For  what  purpose  ? "  said  she. 

"To  get  you  turned  out,"  quoth  Old  Crab.  "But 
you'll  come  out  now  without  being  turned  out,  perhaps, 
when  I  call  for  you,  and  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  few  days 
to  return  into  the  north." 

"  What  a  fool  was  I,"  said  she,  "  to  give  away  myself 
and  my  fortune  in  this  manner !  I  always  thought  this 
house  and  furniture  my  own,  for  my  money  bought  it, 
and  that  no  creditor  of  my  husband  could  dare  to  lay  a 
finger  upon  it ! " 

"It  is  not  the  first  time  you  have  thought  wrong," 
quoth  Old  Crab,  "  by  a  pretty  many,  madam,  let  that 
be  your  comfort." 

"  Comfort ! "  cried  she,  '  what  comfort  have  I  left 
me  ?  am  I  not  at  this  cursed  fellow's  mercy  to  be  in- 
sulted and  turned  out  into  the  highway  ?  " 

"I  suppose,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  with  a  grin,  "you  do 
as  you  would  be  done  by." 

[39] 


W$t  distort!  of  tyx.  2f|o&n  Decaatro 

This  put  Mrs.  Decastro  beyond  all  patience,  and  she 
flung  out  of  the  room  like  one  mad. 

She  had  not  been  gone  one  moment,  however,  before 
she  bounced  in  again,  and  almost  ran  her  head  into 
Old  Crab's  teeth,  who  was  coming  out.  She  made 
two  or  three  attempts  to  speak,  but  something  choked 
her,  at  last  she  tossed  herself  upon  a  sofa,  and  fell  a 
crying.  Old  Crab  leaned  upon  his  oaken  towel  and 
stood  and  looked  at  her  without  speaking  one  word. 
A  flood  of  tears  gave  her  a  little  relief,  when  she  leaped 
off  the  sofa,  and  coming  up  to  Old  Crab,  who  stood  his 
ground,  though  he  did  not  know  what  to  expect,  she 
said,  "  I  am  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  begging  for 
your  protection." 

"  You  would  have  done  yourself  more  credit,  if  you 
had  not  asked  for  it,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "and  me  too  if 
you  had  not  thought  it  necessary.  But  out  of  this 
place  you  shall  come,  or  I  will  put  a  ferret  into  the 
house  that  shall  make  the  rats  bolt,  and  you  too,  ma- 
dam, amongst  other  vermin — but  I  have  something  else 
to  do  than  stand  talking  to  a  doll.  A  word  with  you : 
this  day  week,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  shall 
call  for  you  and  the  children  to  go  back  with  me  into 
the  north :  be  ready  at  the  time." 

"  How  are  we  to  go  ?  "  said  she. 

"  In  the  stage-coach,"  said  he. 

"  I  never  was  in  such  a  thing  as  a  stage-coach  in  my 
life,"  said  she. 

"This  will  be  the  first  time  then,"  said  he. 

"  But  shall  I  be  safe  here  till  you  come  ? "  said  she. 

"Trust  to  me,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  and  away  he  went: 
and  those  words  from  Old  Crab  were  as  good  as  an- 
other's bond. 

[4o] 


W$t  history  of  £&v.  3flotm  EDrcaetro 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone  she  fell  to  pack  up  her 
clothes  and  her  jewels,  which  are  sometimes  the  first 
things  that  run  in  a  woman's  head,  and  the  last  things 
that  quit  possession  of  her  heart.  A  footman  came  in 
soon  after  Old  Crab's  departure  to  ask  her  if  she  would 
choose  to  be  at  home  to  the  Countess  of  Budemere  ? 
If  Mrs.  Decastro  had  any  female  friends  at  all,  her 
sister-in-law  was  certainly  one.  The  servant  had  orders 
to  introduce  her  ladyship. 

After  Mrs.  Decastro  had  explained  her  condition  and 
bewailed  her  woes,  she  bethought  her  to  ask : 

"  But,  pray,  do  you  know  any  thing  about  this  old 
family  place  in  the  north — a  castle  I  think  they  call 
it  ? " 

"I  was  born  in  it,"  replied  Lady  Budemere,  "but  left 
it  too  soon  to  recollect  the  least  of  it.  Our  ancestors 
lived  in  it  for  many  generations :  but  my  father  was 
too  gay  to  live  so  much  out  of  society ;  he  bought  his 
place  in  Berkshire,  therefore,  and  built  upon  it,  to  get 
a  little  amongst  folks,  and  more  into  the  light  of  the 
world.  This  old  family  place  has  been  neglected  now 
so  many  years  that  it  can  be  little  better  than  a  heap 
of  ruins.  I  will  tell  you  all  I  have  heard  of  it  from 
others :  it  is  built  on  an  island  in  the  middle  of  a  lake, 
an  island  containing  about  three  thousand  acres  of 
ground,  one  third  of  which  is  covered  with  wood.  The 
island  rises  in  the  middle  like  a  round  hill,  though  not 
very  high,  upon  which  hill  stands  the  old  castle,  which 
looks  at  a  distance  as  if  it  was  stuck  in  the  middle  of  a 
thick  wood.  There  is  a  fine  bunch  of  oaks  on  one  side 
which  hides  all  but  the  towers  at  the  corners  of  it :  the 
wood,  which  is  composed  of  very  stately  trees,  grows 
round  the  edge  of  the  island  like  a  broad  riband,  and 

[4i] 


Wqt  tyi&toty  of  Qf)r.  ifloljn  H>ccastro 

forms  a  verdant  zone  next  the  water,  which,  and  the 
water  together,  shut  the  world  out  as  if  it  was  a  thief. 
The  castle  was  built  by  one  of  our  ancestors  who  came 
over  with  William  the  Conqueror ;  his  name  was  Athel- 
wolf  Decastro,  who  took  it  into  his  head  to  quarrel  with 
the  world  because  it  was  not  good  enough  for  him,  so 
he  turned  up  his  nose  at  it  and  left  it,  and  ran  into  this 
secluded  place  to  get  out  of  the  smell  of  it.  The  cas- 
tle is  built  of  stone,  and  the  outer  wall  of  it  is  four 
yards  thick;  it  is  built  upon  a  square,  with  a  high 
tower  at  each  corner.  The  inside  of  it,  I  have  heard, 
is,  a  good  deal  of  it,  cabined  off  into  small  apartments, 
but  there  are  some  very  large  rooms  in  it :  the  roof  is 
covered  with  large  broad  plates  of  solid  stone  which 
are  supported  with  whole  trees  by  way  of  rafters,  laid 
down  with  their  branches  on  them,  which  is  said  to  be 
a  great  curiosity.  My  lord  and  I  have  intended,  these 
two  or  three  summers  past,  to  take  a  trip  into  the 
north,  and  see  this,  and  other  oddities  there;  but  one 
thing  or  other  has  always  stood  in  the  way.  There 
are  no  other  houses  on  this  island,  my  brother  Bat's 
farm-house  excepted,  unless  it  be  a  few  fishermen's 
cottages.  On  the  south  side  of  the  lake  is  the  ferry, 
where  boats  are  kept  for  any  that  would  pass  the  water, 
and  on  the  opposite  shore  stands  a  great  post  with  a 
horn  chained  to  it,  which  is  blown  to  call  the  ferryman. 
My  brother  Bat's  farm-house  is  as  old  as  the  castle,  and 
of  all  the  neat  farm-houses  in  the  world  is  said  to  be 
the  neatest.  He  rents  a  thousand  acres  of  my  brother 
John,  which  is  nearly  half  the  island,  that  is  of  the  un- 
wooded  part  of  it :  the  rest  lies  in  pastures  called  the 
castle  lands ;  they  used  to  be  well  stocked  with  deer  in 
my  father's  davs.     Bat  is  vastly  fond  of  this  place,  and 

I  4*] 


Ctjc  ^ictorf  of  9&v.  31oljn  H>ecastro 

would  bring  John  to  live  in  it,  and  his  argument  for  it 
is,  that  a  man  and  his  estates  cannot  be  too  near  to- 
gether; but  this  is  now  quite  impossible,  for,  if  the 
place  is  not  a  ruin,  it  would  take  a  very  large  sum  of 
money  to  make  it  at  all  fit  to  receive  any  human  being, 
and  what  money  can  be  found  must  now  go  another 
way.  If  one  had  a  mind  to  bury  oneself  alive  I  don't 
know  a  fitter  place  for  it  than  in  this  old  castle ;  there 
is  scarcely  a  house  within  a  day's  journey,  except  Mr. 
Grove's  at  Hindermark,  and  that,  by  all  accounts,  looks 
like  a  place  built  by  a  man  that  had  committed  murder, 
and  had  run  away  to  hide  himself  for  fear  of  getting 
hanged." 

"This  old  castle,''  said  Mrs.  Decastro,  "must  be  a 
dismal  place  by  your  account  of  it;  but  I  think,  in  the 
mind  I  am,  I  could  be  glad  to  run  into  a  tomb  to  get 
out  of  this  house,  and  out  of  London." 


[  4.1  1 


CHAPTER  VI 

How  Mrs.  Decastro  was  frightened  in  her  Bed — Old  Crab  paid 
his  Brother's  Debts — How  Mrs.  Decastro  and  the  Children 
get  safe  out  of  London  in  the  Dark. 

The  two  ladies  had  a  great  deal  more  talk  together, 
but  perhaps  the  reader  cares  little  for  the  chat  of 
ladies : — for,  if  it  were  not  for  the  music  of  their  sweet 
voices,  and  the  pretty  looks  of  their  pretty  faces,  who 
could  have  patience  to  hear  their  tittle-tattle  for  five 
minutes?  for  who  talk  more  that  have  less  to  say? 
and  who  say  so  little  in  so  much  talking  ?  But  do  not 
the  men  talk  as  much  nonsense  as  the  women  ?  Yes, 
as  much  as  the  women  could  for  their  hearts  if  they 
were  not  the  more  silent  animals  of  the  two.  Lady 
Budemere  took  her  leave  with  many  very  kind  assur- 
ances, and  they  did  Mrs.  Decastro's  heart  good  to  hear 
them,  certainly,  but  brought  little  help. 

Now  if  a  house  be  on  fire  and  there  is  a  lady  in  it  she 
is  apt  to  get  the  fidgets ;  Mrs.  Decastro  was  in  a  like 
taking,  and  quite  as  restless.  She  did  a  thing,  how- 
ever, which,  perhaps,  she  would  not  have  done  in  it  if  it 
had  been  on  fire,  and  that  was,  she  went  to  bed  in  it. 
How  she  slept,  or  what  she  dreamed  about,  we  never 
could  come  to  know;  but  she  was  terribly  disturbed 
very  early  the  next  morning  with  as  much  knocking 
and  noise  as  could  come  if  fifty  people  were  taking  the 
house  to  pieces.  She  rang  for  her  maid  to  know  what 
on  earth  was  come  to  the  place,    when  she  was  told 

[44] 


&bc  friston?  of  $9i\  3fiotm  ©ecastro 

that  there  were  workmen  in  almost  all  the  rooms  in 
the  house,  taking  down  the  furniture,  packing  it  up, 
and  handing  it  into  waggons  which  stood  ready  at  the 
door  to  receive  it. 

Mrs.  Decastro  leaped  out  of  bed  as  if  she  had  been 
bit  by  a  snake  in  it,  and  was  not  quite  so  long  a-dress- 
ing  as  she  had  sometimes  been  when  going  to  a  ball. 
One  woman  has  great  spirit  where  another  would  be 
frightened  out  of  her  senses.  Mrs.  Decastro,  as  soon 
as  she  had  covered  what  Nature,  who  has  been  pleased 
to  put  clothes  on  every  other  animal,  hair,  scale,  or 
feather,  had  left  naked,  boldly  sallied  forth  amongst 
the  workmen,  and  asked  by  whose  order  it  was  that 
they  carried  the  furniture  out  of  the  house  ?  She  was 
answered,  "  by  their  master's  orders  " ;  and  that  was  all 
the  answer  she  could  get,  except  from  one,  who  asked 
her  "  what  part  of  the  house  she  could  have  lived  in 
not  to  know  that  Lord  Delamere  had  bought  the  place  ? 
And  what  was  become  of  Decastro  and  his  wife,  and 
what  stone  they  could  be  made  of  to  run  away  and 
leave  their  children  to  be  turned  into  the  street?" 
This  put  the  poor  lady  to  flight  in  a  moment,  who  had 
no  little  reason  to  think  that  Lord  Delamere  had  sent 
his  people  to  turn  her  and  her  children  out  of  the 
house ;  her  conscience  could  not  but  tell  her  how  much 
justice  there  was  in  it,  but  she  did  not  much  like  the 
thoughts  of  it  for  all  that.  She  ran  up-stairs,  and, 
locking  herself  into  her  room,  threw  herself  upon  the 
bed  and  wept  for  ten  minutes  together. 

It  presently  came  into  her  head,  however,  that  she 
was  not  making  the  best  use  of  her  time,  so  she  jumped 
up  and  sent  a  note  to  Old  Crab,  begging  and  beseech- 
ing him  by  all  that  he  held  dear,  or  sacred,  to  come  to 

[45] 


(Et)c  piston?  of  ^r.  31otin  SDtcastro 

her  that  moment ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  found,  so  the 
servant  left  the  note  for  him  at  the  Old  Huraraums 
where  he  always  put  up,  and  returned  without  any 
answer.  If  Mrs.  Decastro  sat  upon  five-and-twenty 
thorns  before,  she  now  sat  upon  fifty,  and,  what  added 
to  her  prickings,  a  party  of  at  least  twenty  of  her  ac- 
quaintance came  into  the  house  with  no  more  cere- 
mony than  if  there  were  a  public  auction  in  it,  to  look 
at  the  place  and  enjoy  the  downfall  of  poor  Mr.  Decas- 
tro and  his  family.  It  had  been  given  out,  certainly, 
that  neither  she  nor  her  husband  were  in  town,  and 
that  the  house  was  sold ;  so  far  they  had  an  excuse, 
and  they  walked  out  of  one  room  into  another  with 
quite  as  little  ceremony  as  if  it  belonged  to  Mr.  No- 
body. We  must  leave  the  reader  to  guess  at  poor 
Mrs.  Decastro's  situation  when  she  heard  their  well- 
known  voices  at  her  bedroom  door,  and  some  hand 
make  an  attempt  to  open  the  same,  and  in  they  would 
have  come  upon  her  all  together,  if  she  had  not  bolted 
all  the  bolts  which  she  could  find.  A  storm  cannot 
last  for  ever — and  a  calm  usually  comes  after  it — the 
house  now  became  quiet,  but  not  until  every  apartment 
except  three  had  been  totally  disfurnished !  These 
three  were  the  nursery,  Mrs.  Decastro's  bed-room,  and 
the  kitchen :  and  Mrs.  Decastro,  upon  asking  her  maid 
what  was  become  of  all  the  servants,  was  told  that  Old 
Crab  had  paid  them  all  off  except  one  nursery-woman, 
herself,  and  the  cook.  The  coach-houses,  stables,  cel- 
lars, all  were  cleared,  the  windows  all  shut,  and  the 
house  looked  like  one  uninhabited.  Mrs.  Decastro 
and  the  children,  however,  had  all  their  wants  supplied, 
except  some  artificial  ones,  which  were  left  to  be  any 
body's  masters. 

[46] 


(Etjc  toistoty  of  S0r.  3T|0^n  HDeeastro 

As  soon  as  Old  Crab  got  back  to  London  out  of 
Berkshire,  he  called  a  meeting  of  his  brother's  credi- 
tors, who,  being  seated,  a  hundred  of  them  at  least,  on 
each  side  of  a  long  table  with  nothing  else  but  a  green 
cloth  upon  it,  Old  Crab  asked  them  if  they  had  a  mind 
to  eat  him  ?  for  they  gave  him  such  an  hungry  look  as 
if  they  came  to  pick  his  bones.  Now  out  came  all 
their  bills  as  the  word  of  command,  and  Old  Crab  was 
almost  smothered  in  paper !  In  meetings  of  this  sort 
there  is  for  the  most  part  one  or  two  more  impudent 
than  all  the  rest,  who  take  upon  themselves  to  be  the 
mouth  of  the  company :  now  one  of  this  kidney  was 
present  here,  and  quite  as  impudent  as  any  that  ever 
opened  his  mouth  upon  such  an  occasion.  He  arose, 
as  if  he  thought  folks  could  not  see  too  much  of  his 
person,  and  asked  Old  Crab  what  they  were  to  expect 
in  the  pound  ? 

"There  might  be  five  shillings,*-  said  he,  "for  what 
he  knew,  and  they  might  think  themselves  well  paid  if 
they  got  as  much  as  that.  He  would  see,  however, 
what  could  be  done  for  them." 

So  taking  their  bills,  one  by  one,  Old  Crab  put  them 
orderly  upon  a  file,  and,  telling  them  that  they  should 
have  notice  when  he  was  ready  for  them,  dissolved  the 
meeting,  which  was  held  at  the  chambers  of  Petticraft 
the  attorney.  Now  there  was  one  Sir  John  O.  amongst 
Mr.  Decastro's  creditors,  of  whom  money  had  been 
borrowed,  who,  having  no  mind,  perhaps,  to  soil  his 
person  amongst  a  crew  of  dirty  tradesmen,  came  into 
the  room  after  the  rest  were  gone  out  of  it. 

"So,  sir,"  said  he  to  Old  Crab,  "you  are  come  into 
your  brother's  affairs  again,  I  find,  and,  from  all  I  can 
learn,  it   is   a  pity   that  you  ever  left   them.     Your 

[47] 


We>t  totorp  of  £$t.  31o^n  SDeeastro 

brother  is  a  bankrupt,  I  am  told ;  how  are  his  matters 
to  be  arranged,  and  what  are  we  to  look  for  in  the 
pound  ? " 

"  I  must  know  myself  before  I  can  tell  you,"  quoth 
Old  Crab. 

"When  is  that  like  to  be? "  said  Sir  John. 

"  You  may  know  some  day,  if  you  don't  get  hanged 
first,"  quoth  Old  Crab.  "  If  you  had  come  into  the 
room  sooner  you  might  have  heard  what  I  said  to  the 
rest  of  the  gang,  if  you  had  brought  your  ears  along 
with  you." 

"  I  never  had  the  honour  to  meet  you  before,"  said 
Sir  John,  "  but  I  have  heard  you  were  a  rough  one ; 
perhaps  you  will  give  yourself  the  trouble  just  to  say 
when  we  are  like  to  have  a  dividend  ? " 

"Others  have  asked  the  same  question  and  are  as 
like  to  wait  for  an  answer,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "pray 
who  the  devil  are  you,  you  speak  as  if  you  would  be 
thought  to  be  somebody  ?  " 

"  I  am  Sir  John  O.  and  one  of  the  creditors." 

"  Sir  John  fool's  head ! "  quoth  Old  Crab ;  "  why  the 
plague  didn't  you  come  into  the  room  among  the 
rest?" 

"  Sir  John  fool's-head ! "  said  the  baronet,  "  pray,  sir, 
what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"Mean!"  roared  Old  Crab,  "why  I  mean  to  speak 
English — did  your  mother  never  tell  you  there  was 
such  a  language  ?  Why  didn't  you  come  into  the  room 
with  the  rest  of  the  gang,  I  say ;  must  I  call  one  meet- 
ing for  them,  and  another  for  you,  ye  great  block- 
head ? " 

"  Blockhead  I"  said  Sir  John,  "  I  don't  at  all  under- 
stand such  words ! " 

[48] 


W$t  fcitftori?  of  £0z.  ifjotjn  SDeca0tro 

"Then,"  said  Old  Crab,  "you  may  go  and  look  them 
out  in  the  dictionary ! " 

Upon  which  he  took  up  his  file  of  bills  and  walked 
out  of  the  room  with  his  hat  on. 

Folks  will  be  civil  to  a  great  man  though  they  hate 
him  worse  than  the  devil ;  now  Old  Crab  did  not  hate 
Sir  John  O.,  though  the  devil  himself  might  have 
looked  for  a  little  more  politeness.  No  civil  distinc- 
tion, how  illustrious  soever,  weighed  one  feather  with 
him,  who,  to  give  him  his  due,  had  much  rather  find  a 
virtue  in  a  great  person  than  a  fault ;  for  great  men, 
Old  Crab  used  to  say,  catch  the  common  eye,  and  peo- 
ple were  more  apt  to  imitate  what  they  see  in  them 
than  in  others.  If  a  man  be  a  great  man,  people  think 
that  every  thing  he  does  must  needs  be  great  too,  and 
will  do  as  he  does  to  be  thought  so.  Another  of  his 
sayings  was,  To  take  a  rascal  to  be  an  honest  man  till 
you  found  him  out  to  be  a  rascal  was  civil,  but  to  take 
an  honest  man  to  be  a  rascal  until  you  find  him  out  to 
be  an  honest  man  was  safe.  He  played  his  part  in  the 
world  with  so  much  caution  and  prudence,  that  some 
were  a  little  given  to  think  he  kept  himself  upon  the 
safe  side  of  the  question.  But  Old  Crab  was  always 
more  angry  with  a  great  man  who  did  amiss  than  he 
was  with  a  little  one.  Examples,  he  would  say,  that 
came  down  from  on  high,  came  down  with  greater 
weight  and  force  upon  those  below,  and  did  mischief  in 
proportion  to  the  elevation  from  which  they  fell. 

But  to  return :  Old  Crab,  on  his  way  from  Petticraft 
the  attorney's  chambers  to  Grosvenor-square,  passed 
his  brother-in-law  Lord  Budemere's  house:  his  lord- 
ship, standing  at  his  door,  and  observing  Old  Crab  to 
cross  the  way  to  get  by  and  escape  him,  whose  conduct 
4  [49] 


Wqt  Ijiatorp  of  a&r.  31otyn  SDecastro 

of  late  he  had  by  no  means  approved  of,  called  to  him, 
and  very  civilly  asked  him  how  he  did,  and  invited  him 
into  his  house. 

"What  should  I  come  into  your  house  for?"  said 
Old  Crab ;  "  I  am  not  best  pleased  with  you  nor  your 
house  either,  and  don't  care  how  little  I  see  of  you  or 
your  house,  not  I." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  it,"  said  the  earl,  "and  could 
be  glad  to  see  you  oftener ;  and  however  I  and  my 
house  may  be  out  of  favour  with  you,  we  shall  be  at  all 
times  very  happy  to  see  any  of  our  relations  in  it." 

"Aye,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "you  can  tell  them  so  to 
their  faces  and  wish  them  at  the  devil  at  the  same 
time.  What  should  I  do  in  your  house  but  make  you 
tell  more  lies  than  you  have  told  already  ? " 

"  Come,"  said  the  earl  with  a  good-humoured  smile, 
"  you  always  say  worse  than  you  think ;  I  had  rather  a 
man  should  tell  me  that  I  lied  to  my  face,  than  tell  me 
a  lie  to  my  face,  and  tell  me  by  what  he  did  that  I  lied 
in  what  I  said :  but  I  really  am  glad  to  see  you,  brother 
Bartholomew,  though  I  own  I  have  told  many  a  man 
that  I  was  glad  to  see  him  when  I  was  not ;  but  we 
who  live  in  the  world  must  do  these  things. — I  am  in- 
deed glad  to  see  you,  for  I  much  wish  to  ask  you  about 
our  good  brother  John's  matters,  and,  if  you  are  not 
very  much  in  haste,  you  will  oblige  me  by  coming  in  a 
little,  you  will  I  assure  you.  What  immense  bundle  is 
this  which  you  have  in  your  hand  ?  " 

"Why,  'tis  the  scoundrel's  bills,"  quoth  Old  Crab; 
"  I  am  come  from  a  meeting  of  his  creditors." 

"Well,  but  we  cannot  talk  in  the  street  of  these 
things,"  said  the  earl,  taking  Old  Crab  in  a  friendly 
way  by  the  arm,  and  leading  him  into  the  house. 

[50] 


<&i)e  foistorp  of  spr,  31otm  SDecastro 

"  If  we  can't,  there  are  enough  that  can,  and  in  a 
pretty  many  streets  too ;  I  don't  know  what  the  plague 
should  make  you  so  devilish  mealy-mouthed,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "not  I." 

Upon  which  his  lordship  introduced  him  into  a  mag- 
nificent room,  full  of  a  world  of  fine  folks,  of  whom 
Old  Crab  took  not  the  smallest  notice.  As  soon  as  he 
was  seated  in  the  midst  of  all  this  gay  company,  and 
there  were  at  least  twenty  people  in  the  room,  Lady 
Budemere  came  to  him,  whom  Old  Crab  either  did  not 
see,  or,  perhaps,  did  not  look  for. 

"  Well,  brother,"  said  she,  "  I  suppose  I  must  come 
and  speak  to  you  if  I  expect  to  be  spoken  to,  or  be 
overlooked." 

"  If  you  were  less  look'd  at  and  more  look'd  after,  it 
might  be  as  well,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "what  have  you 
got  to  say  ?  " 

"  Why  this,"  said  she,  "  I  hope  you  find  my  brother 
John's  matters  in  a  better  way  than  you  expected;  I 
own  I  think  they  are  more  frightened  than  hurt." 

"  It  is  no  great  matter  what  you  think,"  quoth  Old 
Crab ;  "  it  were  odds  but  you  think  that  you  think  right 
1  warrant ;  if  you  did  not,  there  were  enough  to  put  you 
in  the  head  of  it,  that's  one  good  thing  comes  of  your 
rank  in  life ;  and  if  you  are  in  the  wrong  you  are  not 
like  to  find  a  friend  to  tell  you  as  much.  How  I  shall 
get  this  lame  dog  over  the  stile  I  shall  not  say,  but  if 
he  be  seen  no  more  in  this  place,  there  will  be  no  want 
of  profligate  scoundrels  to  keep  vice  in  countenance 
with  grandeur  and  opulence." 

"You  think  opulence  and  profligacy  convertible 
terms  ? "  said  Sir  Harry  St.  Clair,  who  was  one  of  the 
party. 

[5i] 


Stjc  history  of  9$t.  3Joljn  EDecastro 

•'  I  should  be  loth  to  tell  you  my  thoughts,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "  if  I  cared  a  rush  for  offending  you ;  hark 
ye,  young  man,  the  next  time  you  come  out  to  ask 
questions  some  might  take  you  for  Solomon  if  you 
brought  a  fool's  head  along  with  you." 

"  You  had  better  not  talk  to  him,  Harry,"  said  Sir 
John  O.,  who  happened  to  be  there;  "you  will  get 
nothing  but  abuse.  It  is  not  long  since  he  gave  me  a 
cast  of  his  office,  and  if  he  had  not  been  a  parson  I 
would  have  kicked  him  out  of  the  room." 

"  Your  first  kick  would  have  been  your  last,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "  for  I  would  have  broken  one  half  of  the 
bones  in  your  body  to  have  taught  the  other  half  good 
manners :  you  are  one  amongst  my  brother's  creditors, 
if  I  have  not  forgot  the  braying  of  an  ass  ? " 

"  I  am,  parson,"  said  Sir  John,  "  though  no  more  an 
ass  than  yourself." 

"  It  is  good  luck  to  be  a  fool,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  for 
none  are  so  well  pleased  with  themselves :  did  you  owe 
my  brother  a  grudge  that  you  lent  him  your  money  ? 
It  is  the  world's  charity  for  one  to  lend  another  a  help- 
ing hand  to  the  devil !  " 

"Well,  parson,"  said  Sir  John,  "canst  tell  what  my 
four  thousand  pounds  are  worth?  Petticraft  says 
there  will  be  but  five  shillings  in  the  pound." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Budemere,  "  are  matters 
so  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"Poor  Mrs.  Decastro,"  cried  Lady  Budemere,  "it 
makes  my  heart  ache  indeed  to  hear  this !  But  tell  us, 
my  good  brother,  has  Petticraft  any  good  grounds  for 
saying  so? " 

"  How  should  I  know  any  thing  about  Petticraft  and 
his  grounds?"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "he  may  know  more 

[53] 


&t)t  tptstoty  of  $$t.  ^jotjn  ©rcastro 

than  I  know,  and  if  you  want  to  know  what  he  knows 
you  may  go  and  ask  him." 

"Why,"  said  Sir  John  O.  "  Petticraft  told  me  that 
you  told  the  creditors  so  yourself." 

"  I  spoke  in  the  subjunctive  mood,  you  blockhead ; 
and  if  you  don't  know  what  that  is  you  may  go  back  to 
school,  if  you  ever  were  at  one,  and  look  into  your 
grammar." 

"  Really,"  said  Sir  John,  "  this  language  is  intoler- 
able," rising  from  his  chair  and  coming  up  to  Old  Crab 
in  a  threatening  manner : — "  I  shall  not  make  any  dis- 
turbance here — you  will  have  the  goodness  to  follow 
me  into  another  room — I  have  a  little  business  with 
you." 

The  baronet  was  in  such  a  rage  he  could  scarce  get 
breath  to  speak.  Old  Crab  and  he  walked  out  of  the 
room  together  and  Lord  Budemere  went  with  them. 
Old  Crab,  thinking  that  the  baronet  had  something  to 
say  upon  his  brother's  matters,  for  so  he  construed  the 
word  business,  was  not  at  all  prepared  for  what  fol- 
lowed, for  the  moment  they  came  into  another  room 
Sir  John  called  Old  Crab  an  impertinent  rascal,  and 
struck  him  a  violent  blow  on  the  head.  It  was  a  little 
lucky  for  the  baronet  that  Old  Crab  had  left  his  oaken 
towel  with  his  hat  and  his  bundle  of  papers  in  the  other 
room,  though  good  fortune  was  not  all  on  his  side,  for 
a  doctor  had  come  to  visit  a  patient  in  the  house  and 
left  his  hat  and  cane  upon  a  chair  at  hand,  seeing 
which  Old  Crab  seized  Sir  John  O.  by  his  collar,  and 
gave  him  the  doctor's  cane  as  long  as  it  held  out,  and 
to  the  baronet's  cost  it  was  a  pretty  tough  one  and 
somewhat  larger  than  a  man's  two  thumbs  put  to- 
gether.    Sir  John  was  miserablv  beaten,  for  he  could 

[53] 


(Etje  Jjiatorp  of  a9r.  31otm  EDecastro 

no  more  contend  with  a  man  of  Old  Crab's  vast 
strength  and  stature  than  he  could  with  old  Hercules, 
and  was  not  a  little  glad  to  see  the  cane  fly  in  pieces 
and  get  rid  of  the  iron  ferrule  which  armed  its  point 
like  a  thimble,  and  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble. 
As  soon  as  Old  Crab  found  nothing  to  be  left  of  the 
cane  in  his  hand  but  the  golden  head  and  the  silk 
riband,  he  let  his  victim  go,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  a 
mind  to  give  him  another  knock  on  the  pate  ?  The 
baronet  made  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  room  with- 
out saying  a  word,  with  his  clothes  very  much  torn 
about  his  neck  and  shoulders, 

"  Now,  kinsman,"  said  Old  Crab  to  Lord  Budemere, 
who  stood  by  to  see  the  fun,  "who  was  it  that  struck 
the  first  blow  ? " 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  Sir  John  O.  was  certainly  the  ag- 
gressor, and  broke  the  peace." 

"  And  my  pate  at  the  same  time,"  quoth  Old  Crab, 
wiping  the  blood  off  his  face,  that  trickled  down  his 
cheek  very  fast  from  under  his  wig. 

The  doctor,  who  had  done  with  his  patient,  one  of 
the  servants  who  was  ill  of  the  gout,  came  into  the 
room  for  his  hat  and  cane,  and  seeing  Old  Crab  very 
bloody,  asked  him  what  was  the  matter? — Being  told, 
he  put  him  upon  a  chair,  and,  taking  off  his  wig,  found 
a  very  deep  cut  in  the  side  of  his  head  which  went  to 
the  skull  and  laid  the  bone  bare  an  inch. 

"Why,"  said  the  doctor,  applying  some  lint  and 
styptic  to  the  wound,  "this  cut  could  never  come 
from  a  man's  knuckles  " :  upon  which  Old  Crab  looking 
at  his  wig,  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  found  it  to  be 
cut  through  as  if  cut  by  a  knife. 

As  soon  as  the  doctor  had  staunched  the  blood  and 
[54] 


(Etje  tyimtv  of  20v.  Jotjn  ©ecafitco 

dressed  the  wound,  which,  coming  from  an  hospital,  he 
was  prepared  to  do,  on  making  his  bow  to  Old  Crab 
upon  receiving  his  fee,  he  kicked  something  with  the 
foot  whose  office  it  was  to  make  the  scrape  upon  the 
floor:  looking,  he  picked  up  a  large  snuff-box,  upon 
the  sharp  edge  of  which  blood  was  found  and  some 
of  the  hair  of  Old  Crab's  wig  sticking  to  it ;  this  ex- 
plained matters,  and  more  clearly  when  Lord  Budemere 
showed  the  baronet's  crest  and  cypher  on  the  lid  of  it. 
The  box  was  a  square  one  with  sharp  corners,  and  the 
doctor  observed  that  such  an  instrument  might  have 
given  a  man  his  death-blow.  Old  Crab,  however,  put 
on  his  wig  again,  and  felt  little  more  of  it.  When  he 
and  Lord  Budemere  returned  to  the  company,  and  the 
earl  told  the  story,  the  room  rang  with  laughter,  and 
Sir  John,  because  he  was  well  thrashed,  was,  of  course, 
called  a  great  fool ;  which  is  quite  the  way  of  the  world 
if  a  man  be  the  general  of  an  army ;  for  to  be  beaten 
is  a  mark  of  folly,  and  it  certainly  makes  a  man  look 
like  a  fool. 

Now  we  by  no  means  take  it  upon  ourselves  to  de- 
fend Old  Crab  in  this  matter,  for  though  he  was  afraid 
of  nobody,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  he  therefore 
might  abuse  every  body.  He  would  have  his  saying 
for  all  that ;  and  though  there  are  a  great  many  things 
in  Old  Crab  which  it  would  be  well  if  every  man  would 
imitate,  we  would  advise  this  to  be  set  down  amongst 
his  faults,  and  moreover  as  a  matter  that  would  be 
attended  with  no  little  danger  in  the  imitation,  even 
though  a  man,  a  thing  that  very  rarely  happens,  were 
as  large  and  as  powerful  as  Old  Crab. 

No  jest  is  immortal — this,  which  was  a  very  good 
one  at  the  baronet's  expense,  died  away  and  all  the 

[55] 


W$t  l?tetorE  of  $0t.  3|o&n  E>eca$tto 

laughter  along  with  it.  His  basting  confined  him  to 
his  bed  for  a  week :  but  of  this  thus  far.  Now  a  great 
many  questions  were  asked,  but  none  were  answered, 
upon  Mr.  Decastro's  matters,  and  Old  Crab  left  Lord 
Budemere's  house  just  as  full  of  wisdom  as  he  found  it. 
Old  Crab  was  a  very  close  man ;  he  had  a  very  good 
rule  for  keeping  a  secret,  and  that  was,  never  to  tell  it 
to  any  body. 

Mr.  Decastro's  debts  amounted  to  the  vast  sum  of 
one  hundred  and  ninety  thousand  pounds.  His  prop- 
erty, however,  in  London  and  in  Berkshire,  when  the 
whole  of  it  was  sold,  aided  by  the  last  year's  rents,  put 
money  enough  into  Old  Crab's  hands  to  pay  every 
farthing  which  his  brother  owed  in  the  world.  Willing 
to  keep  the  matter  as  much  a  secret  as  possible,  for 
sorxe  reasons  best  known  to  himself,  he  called  no  more 
public  meetings  of  creditors,  but  coming  to  each  man's 
house,  told  him  in  his  ear,  that  if  he  would  keep  the 
thing  a  profound  secret,  he  would  pay  him  the  amount 
of  his  bill;  but  must  take  it  for  an  especial  favour. 
He  served  every  man  the  same,  and  set  them  all  a 
laughing  at  one  another  in  their  sleeves,  each  thinking 
himself  to  be  the  lucky  man.  Sir  John  O.,  however, 
would  not  see  Old  Crab,  though  he  came  with  four 
thousand  pounds  in  his  pocket  for  him,  which  he  was 
fain  to  leave  in  Petticraft's  hands  upon  the  execution 
of  a  legal  receipt. 

To  return  to  Mrs.  Decastro, — she  got  another  terri- 
ble fright  before  she  got  out  of  London.  Now,  what 
teeth  and  claws  are  to  a  lion,  horns  to  a  bull,  poison 
to  an  adder,  fear  is  to  a  woman,  the  means  of  self-pres- 
ervation :  and  what  matter  how  the  thing  be  done,  if 
it  is  done,  and  well  done  ?     Great  teeth  and  claws  will 

[56] 


<Et>e  toittovv  of  S0u  31ot)n  Drcaatro 

tear  their  way  through,  but  fear  saves  all  the  trouble 
of  biting  and  scratching  by  keeping  out  of  harm's  way. 
Now  Mrs.  Decastro  had  teeth  and  nails,  it  is  true,  but 
a  great  deal  of  fear  into  the  bargain,  and  ought  to  be, 
upon  both  accounts,  very  safe,  if  one  had  not  unluckily 
stood  in  the  way  of  the  other :  for  what  are  teeth  and 
claws  if  fear  comes  in  and  prevents  a  lady  from  using 
them  like  a  lion  ? 

Now,  some  are  never  content  with  a  book  unless  it 
has  reflections  in  it;  and  others  think  they  only  stand 
in  the  reader's  way  and  hinder  the  story :  hence  it  fol- 
lows that  a  writer  must  needs  be  able  to  do  two  things 
at  once,  to  please  two  readers;  this  comes  of  people 
having  different  tastes.  This  is  all  very  fine  and  very 
sublime,  but  it  has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  Mrs.  De- 
castro. We  will  come  to  what  has,  then, — she  had  been 
forced  to  breakfast,  dine,  sup,  and  sleep  all  in  the  same 
room  for  several  days,  at  which  she  felt  extreme  dis- 
gust, not  because  ladies  cannot,  or  do  not  do  this,  but 
then  it  must  be  when  they  take  it  in  their  heads  to  be 
ill  and  keep  their  rooms.  Now  Mrs.  Decastro  was  very 
well,  and,  what  is  more,  chose  to  be  so,  and,  as  for  keep- 
ing of  rooms,  that  she  could  not  do,  and  for  this  reason, 
because  they  were  all  sold ;  and  her  greatest  grievance 
was  upon  this  account — she  was  in  the  house  of  an- 
other, who  certainly  would  have  turned  her  out  if  he 
had  known  she  had  been  there. 

Lord  Delamere  knew,  indeed,  that  the  children  were 
in  the  house,  but,  to  give  him  his  due,  he  was  too  much 
of  a  nobleman  to  wreak  his  vengeance  upon  such  as  had 
never  offended  him.  On  the  day  before  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro's  departure  his  lordship's  carriage  stopped  at  the 
door,  to  the  no  small  consternation  of  that  good  lady, 

[57] 


(Etje  J^ififtot^  of  $)t*  Sloljn  SDecafitro 

for  she  heard  the  carriage  come,  and,  soon  after,  his 
lordship's  voice  in  the  house;  which,  from  being  dis- 
furnished,  echoed  the  more,  and  made  every  noise  more 
terrible ;  for  empty  hollow  rooms  are  apt  to  sound,  and 
nothing  quicker  than  a  lady's  ear  when  she  has  a  mind 
to  be  frightened.  Mrs.  Decastro  could  have  been  glad 
at  that  moment  to  have  been  put  into  a  sack  and 
trundled  out  of  London  in  a  wheel-barrow. 

Some  blamed  Old  Crab  for  being  so  severe ;  he  said 
the  severest  diseases  called  for  the  severest  medicines : 
and,  at  another  time,  upon  the  same  objection,  he  said, 
folks  had  as  good  reason  to  call  a  surgeon  severe  in 
cases  of  amputation  and  lancing  of  inveterate  ulcers. 
It  was  no  such  easy  matter  to  cut  out  vices  without 
giving  some  pain  to  the  patient,  and,  in  moral  matters, 
the  more  the  better,  for  it  was  often  that  the  pain  did 
all  the  business.  What  would  be  the  good  of  a  sound 
whipping  if  there  were  no  pain  in  it  ?  of  a  cuff,  or  a 
kick,  if  nobody  felt  it  ?  In  regard  to  profligacy,  said 
Old  Crab,  what  can  be  done  in  obstinate  cases,  where 
calm  advice  is  not  only  disregarded,  but  laughed  at, 
thrown  away,  as  some  throw  medicine  away,  and  will 
not  take  it  ?  Money  makes  folks  saucy,  profligate,  and 
hard-hearted:  his  brother  and  sister  had  both  used 
Lord  Delamere  very  ill,  and  it  would  have  served  them 
right  to  have  brought  him  into  the  house  to  have  put 
them  both  out  by  the  shoulders. 

It  must  be  added,  however,  in  justice  to  them,  that 
they  were  very  sorry  for  this  thing  afterwards.  Old 
Crab,  however,  whose  maxim  it  was  that  whosoever 
did  amiss  ought  to  be  punished  for  it,  was  determined 
to  make  Mrs.  Decastro  smart  for  this  inhuman  usage 
of  Lord  Delamere,  who,  to  give  her  her  due,  was  the 

[58] 


&\)t  toistove  of  £0v.  31oljn  SDeeastro 

most  inveterate  of  the  two  against  him,  and  to  give  her 
her  due  too,  was  the  most  sorry  for  it  afterwards. 
And  smart  she  did,  if  fear  can  be  said  to  make  one 
smart,  when  she  heard  Lord  Delamere's  voice  at  her 
room-door,  for  he  actually  came  to  it,  and  would  have 
opened  it,  and  come  in,  if  it  had  not  been  locked  and 
bolted:  and  one  of  the  workmen,  whom  his  lordship 
had  brought  with  him,  and  to  whom  he  had  been  giv- 
ing his  orders,  was  heard  to  say,  "  The  door  is  fastened, 
my  lord,  shall  I  force  it  open  ?  "  At  that  instant  Mrs. 
Decastro  fell  on  the  floor  in  a  fit,  and  it  was  well  she 
did  it  without  making  any  other  noise  than  a  great 
bounce  on  the  boards. 

"  Let  matters  be,"  said  Lord  Delamere,  checking  the 
man,  who  had  a  spike-bit  in  his  hand,  and  would  have 
forced  the  door,  "the  children  are  in  that  room,  I  owe 
them  no  ill-will,  they  will  be  gone  to-morrow :  but  you 
heard  how  mine  were  used  ?  " 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  the  man,  "and  every  body  else, 
and  it  would  serve  Decastro's  brats  but  right  to  un- 
kennel the  whole  brood  of  them,  and  put  them  into  the 
street." 

His  lordship  answered,  with  feelings  that  did  him 
honour,  "  I  can't  find  it  in  my  heart  to  treat  the  poor 
children  ill." 

Saying  which,  his  lordship  turned  from  the  door  and 
went  into  some  other  rooms.  Mrs.  Decastro  soon  got 
the  better  of  her  fit,  by  which  she  got  no  hurt  but  a 
broken  elbow,  and  cast  a  ghastly  look  all  round  the 
room  for  Lord  Delamere,  and  was  glad  enough  not  to 
find  what  she  looked  for.  One  of  her  little  boys,  who 
had  run  to  the  door  to  listen,  told  her  what  Lord  Dela- 
mere had  said,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem  that  a  kind 

[59] 


Sije  J?i0tori?  of  20t.  IRoljn  ©ecastvo 

thing  should  have  so  keen  an  edge,  this  act  of  mercy 
cut  her  through  the  heart.  It  by  no  means  eased  her 
of  her  fears,  however,  for  she  came  not  within  the 
meaning  of  this  act,  and  her  danger  still  remained  as 
great  as  ever,  if  her  being  in  the  house  should  come 
to  his  lordship's  knowledge. 

People  that  hold  themselves  high  in  the  world  have 
but  the  further  to  fall  when  they  come  down,  and  it  is 
odds  but  they  do  come  down  some  day.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Decastro  had  held  themselves  very  high,  and  that  was 
very  foolish;  for  the  fear  of  being  seen,  now  every 
body  knew  how  much  they  were  humbled,  gave  Mrs. 
Decastro  more  pain  than  a  sound  whipping.  Old  Crab 
felt  no  mercy  for  proud  folks ;  he  never  said  one  word 
to  her  about  the  debts  being  all  paid,  which  had  been 
glorious  news,  but  left  her  and  her  pride  to  fight  their 
own  battles,  and  she  found  to  her  cost  what  a  serpent 
she  had  cherished  in  her  bosom.  But  if  we  begin  to 
preach,  our  readers  will  serve  us  right  if  they  fall 
asleep. 

As  long  as  Lord  Delamere  was  heard  in  the  house 
talking  to  the  workmen,  Mrs.  Decastro  had  the  fidgets : 
if  she  sat  down,  she  would  jump  up  again  just  as  if  she 
had  set  down  upon  a  great  pin :  if  she  walked  about 
her  room,  she  catched  her  feet  up  as  if  the  floor  burned 
her  toes ;  every  little  noise  appalled  her,  and  she  would 
start  at  times  as  if  she  saw  a  ghost !  She  spent  this 
last  day  in  an  agony  which  nobody  can  describe,  so  we 
hope  to  get  excused  in  not  attempting  it,  notwithstand- 
ing every  writer  is  expected  to  do  impossible  things ; 
such,  for  instance,  as  write  books  without  any  faults 
in  them,  and  get  abused  too  for  not  doing  so. 

At  last  this  day  came  to  a  close,  which  will  be  the 
[60] 


1Rty  lyistovy  of  ££r.  J\o\)\x  SDccastto 

case,  when  the  sun  goes  down,  with  most  days,  and 
night  came  and  brought  some  repose  to  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro ;  for  the  spectre  that  had  haunted  the  house  great 
part  of  the  said  day,  walked  out  of  it,  and  Old  Crab, 
known  by  his  heavy  boots  and  oaken  towel,  came  thun- 
dering up  the  stairs  to  tell  Mrs.  Decastro  that  the 
stage-coach  would  be  at  the  door  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning ;  and  it  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  it  came 
at  the  time,  and  Mrs.  Decastro  jumped  into  it  with  as 
much  joy  as  if  she  could  have  jumped  into  Paradise. 

Now  the  talk  of  the  town  was  as  follows :  viz.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Decastro  were  said  to  be  gone  into  Italy  by 
some,  and  to  Paris  by  others,  who  seemed  to  have  good 
grounds  for  what  they  said,  because  they  had  seen 
some  who  had  actually  seen  them  in  both  places  at 
once,  which  was  not  the  first  time  people  had  been 
seen  in  one  place  when  they  were  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  off  in  another.  Old  Crab  cut  off  one  source  of 
intelligence  on  purpose,  perhaps,  for  he  paid  off  every 
servant  (except  his  ward's  nurse,  for  little  Genevieve 
resided  at  present  with  Mr.  Decastro's  children,  who 
could  not  speak  English),  and  that  some  days  before 
he  took  Mrs.  Decastro  into  the  north.  The  creditors 
could  get  no  more  than  five  shillings  in  the  pound,  it 
was  said,  and  for  this  reason,  viz.,  because  there  was  no 
more  for  them,  and,  though  there  might  be  a  better, 
folks  seemed  content  with  this.  Sir  John  O.,  however, 
was  said  to  be  the  only  exception,  who  had  threatened 
to  bring  an  action  against  Old  Crab  for  his  basting, 
and  had,  therefore,  been  paid  all  his  money  to  stop  his 
mouth,  and  the  law  that  was  coming  out  at  it.  But 
we  have  not  told  the  reader  how  many  children  Mr. 
Decastro  had,  which  were  a  sad  neglect, — he  had  two 

[61] 


Wqt  fyistoy)  of  $p&  3|o|jn  Decastto 

boys,  the  eldest  was  called  Frederick,  and  the  young- 
est, an  odd  little  boy,  was  called  Acerbus.  Little 
Genevieve  was  Mrs.  Decastro's  niece,  as  already  ex- 
plained. Well,  now  we  must  leave  Old  Crab,  Mrs. 
Decastro,  the  children,  and  all  the  furniture  of  Mr. 
Decastro's  house  in  town,  for  none  of  that  was  sold, 
travelling  along  the  great  north  road,  and  run  on  before 
all  to  Oaken  Grove,  and  see  how  matters  stand  there. 


[62] 


CHAPTER    VII 

How  Mr.  Decastro  employed  himself  while  Old  Crab  was  in 
the  South — How  he  ran  his  Head  against  a  Post — The  ar- 
rival of  Old  Crab,  Mrs.  Decastro  and  the  Children — How 
Mr.  Decastro  bent  his  Rib,  that  is  to  say  his  Wife,  to  his 
liking — Mrs.  Decastro  grows  very  wise  by  being  made  a 
great  fool. 

We  hope  thou  art  in  good  wind,  reader,  for  this  is 
like  to  be  a  long  chapter. — Mr.  Decastro's  affairs  gave 
Old  Crab  a  world  of  colic  and  trouble :  he  had  been  at 
the  pains  to  cast  up  every  bill  and  examine  every  arti- 
cle in  every  one  of  them,  and  had  struck  off  no  less 
than  a  thousand  pounds  which  came  of  blunders  and 
false  reckonings,  &c.  There  were  some  creditors  of  a 
peculiar  colour,  who  brought  in  what  folks  call  debts 
of  honour ;  of  these  Old  Crab  would  not  pay  one  far- 
thing ;  there  was  a  great  deal  more  paid,  however,  than 
had  been  at  all  expected,  and  most  people  were  not 
only  contented,  but  overjoyed,  to  see  so  much  money 
come  in  where  so  little  had  been  looked  for. 

This  business  kept  Old  Crab  two  months  in  the 
south ;  a  handsome  present  was  offered,  but  Old  Crab 
would  not  take  one  farthing  for  his  trouble.  A  hand- 
some present!  why,  where  could  handsome  presents 
come  from  ?  Have  a  little  patience,  reader,  and  you 
shall  see :  But  why  should  he  refuse  it  ?  did  he  think  it 
too  little  ?  or  did  he  think  none  large  enough  ?  or  did 
he  think  it  beneath  his  dignity  to  accept  any  ?  or  did  he 
think  none  of  his  services  could  deserve  any  ?  or  did  he 

[63] 


(Etje  fristor?  of  S0t.  3Jotm  Drcastco 

think  a  present  quitted  an  obligation  ?  Thou  art  vastly 
inquisitive,  reader ;  but  it  is  no  mean  art  in  a  writer  to 
keep  his  reader  upon  the  look  out,  and  his  curiosity 
awake.  But,  as  we  were  saying,  his  brother's  matters 
gave  Old  Crab  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  a  great 
knock  on  the  head,  upon  which  last  thing  a  great  many 
wise  and  shrewd  observations  might  be  made,  but, 
some  how  or  other,  we  are  not  much  in  the  humour  to 
talk  upon  this  subject  at  present,  so  we  shall  put  off 
knocks  on  the  head  until  we  get  to  our  chapter  upon 
the  coming  together  of  solid  bodies,  wherein  all  sorts 
of  knocks  will  be  taken  into  due  consideration: — one 
great  bounce  excepted,  which  belongs  more  especially 
to  this,  and  we  shall  now  proceed  to  give  an  account  of 
it.  Mr.  Decastro,  in  his  brother's  absence,  gave  him- 
self much  to  deep  meditation ;  many  matters  engaged 
his  thoughts,  he  walked  a  great  deal  by  himself,  and 
talked  to  himself,  and  shed  a  world  of  tears  over  his 
past  follies,  and  his  present  misfortunes.  He  had  got 
into  such  an  odd  humour  for  crying,  that  even  a  taste, 
or  a  smell,  a  touch,  a  sound,  or  a  sight,  would  bring 
the  water  down  his  face  as  if  it  were  a  church  spout : 
his  water  came  from  him  in  such  an  abundance  that 
he  was  more  like  a  pump  than  a  man,  he  had  got  into 
such  a  way  of  weeping  and  shedding  of  tears.  Mrs. 
B.  Decastro  did  all  she  could  to  comfort  him,  and  little 
Julia  would  bring  her  chair  close  to  his,  and  sit  and 
mend  her  stockings,  and  sing  to  him,  but  all  in  vain. 
The  poor  gentleman  was  like  to  go  distracted.  Some- 
times he  would  smite  his  forehead,  and,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  ceiling,  say,  he  was  a  beggar,  a  ruined  man  both 
in  this  world  and  the  next ;  not  worth  twopence,  and 
that  he  should  come  to  some  untimely  end.    At  other 

[64] 


Wot  l?istotE  of  Spt.  3Jo^n  ©eeastto 

times  he  would  fall  to  cursing  of  London  and  Berk- 
shire, and  all  living  creatures  in  them,  down  to  the 
smallest  creeping  thing  that  creeps  upon  the  earth. 
London  he  would  call  a  nursery  for  hell,  whence  men, 
women  and  children  are  transplanted  into  it  like  brocoli 
and  cauliflowers  in  a  garden ;  that  do  what  he  would 
there  he  must  come  at  last  as  sure  as  a  log  of  wood 
to  a  fire. 

Mrs.  B.  Decastro  counselled  him  very  wisely  to  bear 
his  troubles  like  a  man,  and  bade  him  to  look  for  her 
husband  and  good  news  to  come  together ;  that  fits  and 
starts,  raving  and  tearing,  would  do  more  harm  than 
good,  an  unexpected  card  might  come  to  be  a  trump 
and  mend  his  hand ;  that  if  the  worst  came,  her  hus- 
band, who  had  put  a  penny  by,  could  take  care  of  him 
and  one  of  the  children,  and  Mrs.  Decastro  and  the 
other  might  go  to  her  friends  who  were  well  in  the 
world,  until  better  stars  came  up ;  that  it  were  unwise 
to  take  the  worst  for  granted  until  the  worst  were 
proved  to  be  the  case.  These,  and  other  the  like  pieces 
of  advice,  Mrs.  B.  Decastro  would  put  into  his  ear;  and 
the  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  tenderness  of  her 
manner,  not  a  little  aided  by  her  beauty,  would  lull  the 
poor  gentleman,  and  put  all  his  scorpions  to  sleep  in 
his  bosom.  They  slept,  indeed,  at  times,  but  it  was  to 
gain  more  strength,  invigorate  their  stings,  and  replen- 
ish their  poisons.  He  would  jump  out  of  his  chair 
sometimes,  after  a  little  repose,  and  fling  out  of  the 
house  without  his  hat,  and  little  Julia  would  often  run 
after  him  with  it  into  the  fields. 

"My  dear  uncle,"  she  would  often  say,  "how  happy 
we  should  be  if  you  were  happy !  My  papa  will  not  let 
those  terrible  men  whom  you  so  much  fear  come  to 
5  [65] 


W$t  fpismy  of  $)r.  2f]ot)n  2Deca0tto 

fetch  you — he  will  not  tell  them  where  you  are,  sir; 
then  how  can  they  know,  when  you  are  so  far  off, 
where  to  find  you  ?  they  cannot  put  you  into  prison  if 
they  cannot  find  you,  sir,  and  who  can  tell  them  where 
to  find  you  so  many  miles  off  ? " 

"Your  papa  is  a  very  just  person,"  Mr.  Decastro 
would  say,  "  and  would  not  hide  a  man  from  the  law 
who  owes  any  thing  to  the  law — he  will  give  me  up, 
my  pretty  little  niece ;  he  will  tell  my  creditors  where 
to  find  me." 

"O  but  he  will  pay  them,"  she  would  answer,  "and 
satisfy  them,  and  then  they  will  not  come  to  take 
you,  sir." 

Then  Mr.  Decastro  would  fall  to  weeping,  and  poor 
Julia  would  cry  for  company.  Poor  man !  his  worldly 
troubles  were  great,  but,  as  if  there  were  any  need,  he 
had  other  troubles  now,  and  these  came  from  his  late 
acquaintance  with  religious  matters;  he  could  not 
choose  but  cast  an  eye  back,  now  and  then,  upon  a  life 
misspent  in  atheism,  vice,  and  the  service  of  wicked 
passions ;  and,  though  he  had  run  away  from  all  other 
creditors,  conscience  knocked  at  his  door  with  a  long 
bill.  As  to  his  estate  in  this  world,  he  conceived  it  to 
be  utterly  ruined  and  lost ;  and  he  began  seriously  to 
look  to  what  might  be  saved  in  another. 

"This  religion,"  said  he,  "of  which  my  brother  has 
given  me  such  an  account,  would,  if  I  had  known  any 
thing  about  it  a  little  sooner,  have  answered  a  double 
purpose ;  for,  if  I  had  lived  by  its  rules,  all  would  have 
been  well  with  me  every  where  in  this  world,  as  well  as 
in  the  next;  for  no  one  thing  on  earth  takes  better 
care  of  a  man's  money  than  Religion,  for  it  bolts  the 
door  against  every  sort  of  vice,  profligacy,  and  extrava- 

[66] 


dftjt  $?t0tot£  of  $®t.  31ot)tt  H>«a0tto 

gance,  the  very  thieves  which  have  robbed  me  of  my 
all !  Its  rules  are  so  excellent,  that  I  am  sure  it  has 
nothing  in  it,  or  about  it,  but  what  is  true;  it  proves  it- 
self by  itself ;  a  man  needs  but  to  examine  it  to  believe 
it  to  be  divine.  I  have  no  comfort  left  but  what  comes 
from  it,  thanks  to  brother  Bat  for  instructing  me  in  it : 
I  had  gone  mad,  or  out  of  the  world  by  my  own  hands, 
but  for  its  kind  and  timely  help.  Great  as  my  troubles 
are,  and  great  as  my  fall  from  what  I  was  to  what  T 
am,  yet  the  promises  and  consolations  held  out  to  me 
by  this  my  new  acquaintance,  bring  me  a  strange  and 
an  unexpected  comfort.  But  it  will  take  me  a  great 
while  to  reconcile  myself  to  the  estate  of  a  poor  man 
who  have  been  a  rich  one.  I  shall  feel  want  in  twenty 
places  where  a  man,  who  has  been  born  and  bred  a  poor 
man,  does  not  feel  any  want  at  all:  this  must  be  ex- 
pected: what  can  be  done?  I  am  at  present  but  a 
young  man,  and  may  look  for  many  years  to  come  in 
this  world:  where  can  I  go,  how  hide  myself,  where 
live  unknown? " 

Raising  his  eyes  at  that  moment,  and  looking  round, 
his  extensive  property  on  all  sides  met  his  view ;  the 
thought  at  that  moment  that  it  might  not  be  his,  made 
the  poor  gentleman  weep  sadly.  How  the  loss  of  a 
thing  endears  it  to  one ! — one  should  be  without  a  thing 
to  know  its  value :  when  a  thing  is  one's  own  it  is  too 
near  to  be  seen  as  it  ought  to  be :  another  must  take  it 
a  little  in  his  hands  to  show  one  all  its  beauties  and  its 
worth. 

"  My  dear  paternal  lands,  and  woods,  and  waters," 
quoth  Mr.  Decastro,  raising  his  wet  eyes  as  if  to  take 
his  last  farewell  of  all  his  inheritances,  "  and  thou,  ven- 
erable castle,  in  which  I  first  drew  breath,  adieu !  I  find 

[67] 


t&ty  n?t0tott»  of  $0i.  3|otin  %>ttmw 

too  late  how  dear  all  are  to  me,  and  feel  a  pang  which 
old  friends  feel  at  parting !  " 

Sobs  would  then  interrupt  his  speech,  and  he  would 
throw  himself  upon  the  ground  in  a  sad  agony,  and  say, 
that  he  could  not  so  much  as  call  his  body's  length  of 
it  his  own ! 

While  he  was  rolling  upon  the  ground,  and  he  cer- 
tainly might  have  been  better  employed,  little  Julia 
stood  at  a  distance  with  a  letter  in  her  hand,  but  was 
too  much  frightened  to  come  near,  for  she  thought  her 
uncle  was  in  a  fit,  when  giving  a  sort  of  plunge  in  the 
agonies  of  his  mind,  he  rolled  round  with  his  face  tow- 
ards her,  and  leaped  up  as  if  ashamed  to  be  seen  by 
her  in  such  a  taking. 

"My  dear  uncle,"  said  she,  "what  is  the  matter? 
have  you  had  a  fit  ?  " 

Mr.  Decastro  looked  a  little  silly,  and  fell  to  brushing 
the  dirt  off  his  clothes  as  if  to  be  employed. 

"  I  have  a  letter,  sir,"  said  Julia,  "  come  for  you  from 
papa,  I  hope  it  brings  you  good  news." 

He  took  it  and  walked  away  with  it,  without  so  much 
as  speaking  one  word.  Julia,  who  had  a  great  curiosity 
to  know  the  contents,  for  the  little  girl  was  much 
grieved  for  her  poor  uncle,  crept  after  him  at  a  dis- 
tance to  watch  him,  while  he  opened  and  read  the  let- 
ter, which  came  from  Old  Crab.  He  walked  on  in  an 
hurried  step  until  he  came  to  a  thick  holly-bush,  when 
he  broke  open  the  letter  with  as  much  agitation  as  a 
thief  breaks  open  a  house  to  steal  its  contents,  and 
read  as  follows  in  a  voice  loud  enough  for  little  Julia  to 
hear  him ;  who  crept  after  him  as  aforesaid,  bringing 
his  hat  and  stick,  which  she  picked  up  where  he  took 
it  into  his  head  to  roll  about  on  the  ground : 

[68] 


&t)t  history  of  9&t.  3JoI)n  £>ftastro 

Brother  John:  I  have  paid  all  your  debts,  and  set 
you  clear  of  all  the  world :  but  it  hath  cost  you  all  you 
were  worth  in  the  south  to  do  it :  all  the  property  in  the 
north  is  still  your  own.  A  plank  hath  been  saved  out 
of  the  wreck,  it  is  the  furniture  of  your  house  in  Lon- 
don— it  is  on  the  road  to  the  north — I  shall  set  out 
with  your  wife  and  family  in  three  days'  time. 
Yours, 

Bartholomew  Decastro. 

Little  Julia,  hearing  this  good  news,  ran  away  to  tell 
it  to  her  mother,  notwithstanding  she  heard  a  great 
noise  in  the  bush  where  her  uncle  stood ;  she  thought, 
however,  that  he  had  too  much  good  news  to  come  to 
any  harm,  so  she  ran  to  tell  it  to  her  mother.  Little 
Julia  was  but  a  morning  star  at  that  time,  just  risen  in 
the  east  of  life — now,  reader,  that  pretty  thing  is  put 
in  to  please  the  ladies ;  don't  you  look  cross  at  it,  or  at 
any  other  the  like  strokes ;  for  if  they  are  pleased,  you 
will  look  like  a  fool  to  stick  out. — Suppose  a  man  die, 
and  we  call  him  a  setting  sun,  what's  that  to  you  ?  one 
in  the  Occident  of  life — and  the  ladies  all  smile  and  cry 
"  what  a  pretty  thought !  "  what  a  plague  need  you  curl 
up  your  lip  ?  If  one  be  best  pleased  to  find  a  diamond, 
and  another  be  best  pleased  to  find  a  barleycorn,  what 
good  comes  of  grumbling  if  you  claw  up  the  stone  in- 
stead of  the  grain  ?  it  is  but  to  take  another  scratch,  as 
the  fable  has  it,  and  you  may  find  what  you  want,  like 
the  old  cock  upon  the  dunghill.  Read  what  book  you 
will,  my  good  friend,  depend  upon  it  you  will  find  some- 
thing that  you  don't  like;  if  you  are  a  gay  man,  the 
first  grave  sentence  will  set  you  a  swearing ;  if  serious, 
and  two  lovers  fall  to  kissing,  it  will  make  you  jump  as 
if  you  saw  the  devil !  But  to  return  to  little  Julia  and 
her  mother. 

[69] 


<&\)t  J?tstot^  of  fijDr.  3floljn  HDrcaatto 

"Why,  Julia,"  said  she,  "where  in  the  world  did  you 
pick  up  your  uncle's  hat  and  stick?  good  heavens!  not 
by  the  water-side  I  hope  ?  I  have  some  time  thought 
him  scarce  fit  to  be  trusted  alone  by  the  water-side. — 
I  hope  he  has  not  drowned  himself  ?  Though  it  were 
no  wonder  if  one  so  distracted  as  he  should  run  to  the 
first  door  to  get  out  of  such  a  world  of  troubles ! " 

"  No,  mamma,"  said  Julia,  "  my  uncle  is  in  that  great 
holly-bush,  on  the  hill  yonder,  there, — just  where  you 
see  that  bird  flying. — He  has  got  such  good  news  in 
his  letter ! — my  papa  has  paid  all  his  debts — and  the 
castle,  and  the  island,  and  every  thing  here  is  all  my 
uncle's !  He  is  a  rich  man  again,  and  I  am  so  glad — I 
dare  say  he  will  let  papa  have  his  farm  for  nothing." 
Thus  the  little  thing  ran  on,  laughing  and  crying  by 
turns,  and  squeezing  her  uncle's  hat  between  her  knees 
till  it  was  like  any  thing  but  a  hat. 

"Why,  Julia,"  said  her  mother,  "where  did  you  get 
this  letter  ?     I  saw  but  one  letter  and  that  was  for  me." 

"  I  met  Old  Comical  with  it,  mamma,  and  he  told  me 
to  run  with  it  to  my  uncle." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  she,  "  I  have  a  letter  from  your 
papa  as  well  as  he,  and  know  all,  and  am  as  much 
pleased  with  this  good  news  as  you  can  be  or  any  body 
— but  go  and  take  your  uncle  his  hat,  and  then  come  to 
me;  I  must  send  you  with  a  message  to  the  castle." 

When  Julia  returned  to  Mr.  Decastro  she  found  him 
sitting  on  the  ground  and  his  face  very  much  scratched 
and  bloody.  Poor  man,  his  troubles  had  brought  him 
into  so  weak  a  state  that  the  unexpected  good  news 
overcame  him,  and  he  had  fainted  and  fell  amongst 
some  of  his  old  acquaintance,  the  thorns  and  the  briars, 
and   scratched   his  face.     He  kissed  his  pretty  little 

[7o] 


<Etje  distort?  of  a^r.  31otm  sxtastro 

post-woman  for  her  letter,  and  she  ran  back  to  her 
mother,  to  take  her  errand  to  the  castle. 

Now  this  magnificent  old  place  had  been  taken  care 
of  by  Old  Crab,  who  was  very  much  attached  to  it,  and 
had  a  desire  to  bring  the  owner  into  it  to  live  amongst 
his  estates  and  tenants  in  the  north :  and  this  his  care 
had  cost  but  little,  for  the  walls  were  so  thick,  and  the 
roof  so  strong  and  massy,  that  the  house  did  not  want 
much  repairing.  It  was  more  like  a  rock  than  an  edi- 
fice, and  looked  as  if  it  were  cut  out  of  a  solid  block  of 
stone  like  a  statue.  All  the  old  furniture  had  been  left 
in  it ;  for  the  late  Mr.  Decastro,  being  a  rich  man,  had 
a  mind  to  have  every  thing  new  in  the  south :  so  he 
left  a  place  of  sterling  grandeur  and  magnificence,  and 
took  up  with  a  piece  of  modern  tinsel  in  the  gay  county 
of  Berkshire,  that  cost  him  a  great  deal  of  money  to 
build  which  might  have  been  brought  to  better  ac- 
count. If  greatness  was  his  object  he  certainly  missed 
the  matter,  for  a  great  man  had  looked  much  greater 
amidst  lofty  towers,  fine  painted  ceilings,  painted  win- 
dows, and  rich  old  tapestries,  than  stuck  in  the  middle 
of  a  tawdry  box  near  London,  with  every  thing  new 
about  him  as  if  he  had  been  the  first  gentleman  in  his 
family.  This  might  have  done  very  well  for  a  grocer 
who  had  put  by  his  plumb,  and  had  a  mind  to  show 
folks  what  sort  of  thing  a  gentleman  should  be ; — but, 
for  a  man  descended  from  a  long  line  of  illustrious  an- 
cestors— but  enough  of  this. 

The  old  castle  was  now  to  be  made  ready  for  the  re- 
ception of  Mr.  Decastro  and  his  family,  and  it  needed 
little  to  be  done,  for  Old  Crab  had  always  kept  two  or 
three  old  women  in  it  to  sweep  and  kill  spiders,  open 
windows  and  make  fires;  he  was  fond  of  the  place 

[7i] 


Qifyt  fyi&totv  of  £g)r.  31oljn  SDrcastto 

where  he  was  born,  and  it  was  not  like  to  come  to 
damage  under  his  care :  so  little  Julia's  errand  was  to 
run  and  tell  the  old  women  to  sweep,  air,  and  light  fires 
in  all  the  rooms  that  were  like  to  be  wanted,  and  the 
same  day  Mr.  Decastro's  furniture  arrived  from  the 
south.     Old  Crab's  letter  to  his  wife  was  as  follows : 

Dear  Wife:  I  look  to  be  at  home  on  Friday.  I 
have  settled  John's  affairs  and  paid  his  debts,  and  it 
took  an  amazing  sum  of  money  to  do  it.  All  the  prop- 
erty in  the  south,  some  furniture  excepted,  has  been 
sold  to  the  last  penny,  which,  with  the  rents  in  hand, 
made  up  a  purse  big  enough  to  pay  all  that  could  be 
legally  demanded.  I  paid  one  hundred  and  ninety 
thousand  pounds  away  before  I  could  shut  my  hand :  a 
prodigal  dog !  I  am  glad  to  hear  from  you  that  he  is 
penitent.  I  have  kept  him  in  the  dark  in  regard  to 
matters  on  purpose ;  and  if  he  had  been  chained  and 
bolted  down  in  the  dark  with  a  straight  waistcoat 
strapped  upon  his  body,  a  man  less  mad  than  he  might 
have  been  turned  out  of  Bedlam  in  his  place,  and  done 
less  mischief  in  the  world.  I  expect  the  goods  will  be 
come  on  the  day  you  will  receive  this  letter.  John,  if 
he  have  not  drowned  or  hanged  himself  by  that  time, 
may  see  the  things  put  in  their  places,  and  do  you  give 
him  money  to  pay  the  waggoners — but  not  one  farthing 
until  the  goods  be  looked  to  that  there  may  be  no  dam- 
age. N.  B.  The  waggoners  are  answerable  for  all  by 
contract,  signed  and  attested.  The  two  old  services  of 
plate  are  packed  in  four  chests,  marked  I,  2,  3,  4.  I 
would  have  them  put  into  my  study  for  the  present. 
I  shall  bring  my  ward  Genevieve  to  our  house,  till 
matters  are  settled  at  the  castle ;  get  the  little  blue 
room  ready  for  her  and  her  woman.  I  am  pleased  with 
your  account  of  John  Mathers ;  I  believe  I  have  made 
him  an  honest  and  a  steady  fellow.  Tell  him  if  he 
goes  on  well  I  will  make  him  my  clerk  when  old 
Grimes  dies,  which  thing  will  be  twenty  pounds  a  year. 


Wfyt  H?i0toi'£  of  a^r.  5JoI)n  SDecastro 

He  was  a  mad-brained  scoundrel  at  Gottingen,  but  I 
begin  to  have  some  hopes  of  him.  I  have  met  with 
great  insolence  in  London  while  engaged  in  John's 
matters.  I  thrashed  one  Sir  John  O.,  who  gave  me  a 
bang  on  the  head  :  and  flung  an  impudent  scoundrel  of 
a  perfumer  through  his  own  shop-window  into  the 
street,  and  half  a  score  great  staring  wooden  dolls  that 
stood  in  it  along  with  the  rascal.  N.  B.  Say  nothing 
to  John  about  the  old  leases  that  will  fall  at  Michael- 
mas. Remember  me  to  my  little  wench. 
Dear  wife, 

Yours  affectionately, 

B.  Decastro. 

The  heart  that  feels  pain  at  another's  troubles  is 
made  amends  by  the  pleasure  it  feels  at  another's  joys. 
Mrs.  B.  Decastro  had  one  as  kind  and  as  tender  as  any 
woman  in  the  world.  The  tears  fell  fast  into  her  bosom 
and  her  lap  while  she  read  her  husband's  letter,  and 
how  water  comes  to  have  so  much  to  do  with  both  joy 
and  grief  is  a  curious  question ;  but  we  must  leave  it 
at  present  to  say  what  a  hurry  this  kind-hearted  lady 
was  in  to  find  Mr.  Decastro,  and  communicate  the  good 
news,  when  she  met  little  Julia  on  her  way,  who  had 
already  done  the  business  by  giving  him  the  letter 
aforesaid. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Decastro  had  recovered  himself  a 
little  from  the  great  knock  which  his  good  news  had 
given  him; — for  it  may  be  remembered  that  he  was 
beaten  down  into  a  holly-bush  by  the  force  of  it,  and 
had  scratched  his  face ;  poor  man !  he  had  very  little 
strength  to  spare  when  the  weight  of  a  letter  could 
bring  him  to  the  ground ; — as  soon  as  Mr.  Decastro 
had  recovered  himself,  he  did  a  thing  which  he  had 
never  done  before,  returned  thanks  for  his  good  news, 

[73] 


^e  C?i$torv  of  8jD&  3|otm  SDecastio 

and,  strange  to  tell,  actually  fell  on  his  knees  to  do  it ! 
and  this  little  Julia  saw  him  do,  who  came  running 
back  with  his  hat,  which  she  had  run  away  with  in 
the  wildness  of  her  joy  to  tell  her  mother  the  very 
good  news,  that  her  mother  knew  very  well  already. 

"  My  uncle  is  a  better  man  than  papa  thinks  him  to 
be,"  said  Julia,  "  for  I  saw  him  kneel  down  and  say  his 
prayers,  mamma,  after  he  received  my  papa's  letter." 

"  He  could  not  say  his  prayers  at  a  better  time,"  said 
Mrs.  B.  Decastro;  "it  is  fit  that  they  who  have  most 
and  pray  least,  should  come  to  want  something  to  pray 
for ;  and  when  great  things  come  where  but  little  was 
expected  and  less  deserved,  if  it  is  not  enough  to  teach 
folks  to  be  thankful,  I  don't  know  what  is :  I  am  glad 
to  hear  this ;  it  is  a  sign  that  your  uncle  is  coming  to 
his  senses,  for  I  am  sure  he  has  lived  like  one  out  of 
his  wits  ever  since  a  madman  was  his  own  master:  but 
run  to  the  castle,  Julia,  and  bid  the  old  women  air  beds 
and  light  fires, — tell  them  that  your  aunt  will  come 
from  London  on  Friday." 

Mr.  Decastro  now  came  out  of  his  holly-bush,  and, 
being  on  an  eminence,  cast  his  eyes  round  on  his  es- 
tates with  as  much  pleasure  as  if  any  body  had  just 
made  him  a  present  of  them.  How  all  this  could  be 
he  could  not  tell,  and  began  to  pinch  his  arms  and  legs 
to  see  if  he  were  not  in  a  dream.  It  now  occurred  to 
him,  that  he  and  his  good  lady  must  have  run  into 
some  little  error  in  their  calculations,  and  few  men, 
perhaps,  were  ever  better  pleased  at  making  a  blunder ; 
for  if  no  blunder  had  been  made,  all  he  were  worth  in 
the  north  would  have  flown  like  chaff  before  the  breath 
of  his  creditors.  He  read  Old  Crab's  letter  over  twenty 
times  and  found  it  to  be  just  the  same  the  twentieth 

[74] 


tEtje  H?i0tot*v  of  £0v.  3|oljn  SDrcastto 

time  as  when  he  read  it  at  first :  he  then  put  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  and  cut  three  capers  for  joy.  As  soon 
as  his  capers  were  over,  he  walked  down  to  the  margin 
of  the  lake  and  fell,  not  into  the  water,  but  into  a  deep 
meditation:  but  not  knowing  ourselves  what  he  was 
thinking  about,  perhaps  we  shall  get  excused  if  we  do 
not  tell  our  readers.  On  he  walked  in  rather  a  quick 
step,  muttering  to  himself  and  staring  at  the  ground 
until  on  a  sudden  he  bounced  his  head  against  a  post, 
which  might  have  got  out  of  his  way  if  it  had  seen  him 
coming,  but  it  had  been  all  the  same  if  the  king  had 
come.  Now  this  great  bounce  against  the  post  put 
Mr.  Decastro  in  mind  of  opposition,  opposition  of  con- 
tradiction, and  contradiction  of  his  wife, — a  very  not- 
able concatenation  of  ideas,  and  by  no  means  inconse- 
quent. Mr.  Decastro  now  began  to  talk  to  himself  in 
this  manner: 

"  I  begin  to  find  that  I  have  been  a  great  fool — and 
that  is  one  step  towards  getting  wise,  for  he  who  thinks 
himself  wise  already  takes  no  pains  to  become  so :  this 
is  brother  Bat's  doctrine,  and  I  think  there  is  some- 
thing in  it ;  but  though  I  have  been  a  great  fool,  my 
wife  has  always  been  very  wise,  though  she  was  never 
able  to  account  for  it,  or  what  place  all  her  wisdom 
came  from.  Now  I  suppose  with  a  little  pains  she  can 
be  made  fool  enough  still  to  think  herself  the  first 
female  intellect  on  earth,  and  may  be  induced  to  for- 
sake the  world  if  she  can  be  made  to  think  herself 
above  it:  else  how  will  these  solitudes  and  unfre- 
quented shades  go  down  with  her,  in  the  midst  of 
which  I  am  come  to  a  mind  to  take  up  my  abode  ?  As 
to  the  world  I  am  not  fit  to  live  in  it  and  will  have  done 
with  it ;  a  man  should  be  made  of  flint  to  live  in  it,  and 

[75] 


1&l)t  fyi&toty  of  $0t.  3|o^n  SDttastro 

not  of  wax,  to  be  moulded  in  its  fingers  to  what  forms 
it  pleases.  I  am  one  of  that  same  ductile  substance ; 
this  impression,  however,  is  hardened  in  me,  he  that  is 
the  most  in  the  world  is  the  most  in  harm's  way :  but 
my  wife  sticks  in  my  throat — how  shall  I  get  her  to 
be  of  my  mind  ?  One  that  has  so  long  been  used  to 
gay  things,  music,  balls,  and  crowded  rooms,  how  will 
she  like  to  stretch  her  elbows  here,  where  there  are  no 
assemblies,  no  routs,  no  press  of  fine  folks  to  squeeze 
the  breath  out  of  her  body  ?  where  she  may  walk  for  a 
month  and  never  get  trod  upon  ?  come  into  a  room 
without  being  suffocated,  or  even  have  so  much  as  a 
gown  or  a  petticoat  torn  off  her  limbs  ?  Something- 
must  be  done,  for  what  woman  can  live  without  getting 
her  flesh  rubbed  off  her  bones  in  a  crowd,  or  her  ribs 
crushed  together  when  all  the  world  is  in  a  room  ?  My 
bones  come  no  more  into  these  mobs,  I  have  been 
squeezed  enough  to  content  any  moderate  man,  they 
are  welcome  to  my  room  who  shall  never  be  again  wel- 
come to  my  company.  These  London  mobs  will  crowd 
a  man's  house  until  there  is  no  room  for  the  master — 
they  have  elbowed  me  into  the  street  once  and  that's 
enough :  they  shall  elbow  me  out  of  no  more  houses, 
and,  thanks  be  to  heaven  and  my  good  brother,  I  have 
yet  a  good  one  left  and  something  left  to  keep  it  warm 
too,  more  by  all  than  ever  I  expected — I'll  feed  no 
more  splendid  gangs  to  eat  me  out  of  it — but  my  wife 
rises  upon  my  stomach  again  like  a  thing  that  is  hard 
of  digestion — what  shall  I  do  to  macerate  and  assimi- 
late her  into  my  plans  ?  I  am  not  very  fond  of  forcing 
medicines  in  these  matters :  a  woman  is  like  a  weather- 
cock, if  she  goes  stiff,  a  little  sweet  oil  will  sometimes 
do  the  business — we  must  oil  her  over  when  we  meet, 

[76] 


Wqz  Ifrtstcrp  of  £}3r.  3flotm  2Deca0tto 

and  see  how  matters  will  be ;  then  a  little  breath  of 
wind,  perhaps,  will  turn  her  like  the  weathercock  afore- 
said." 

Mr.  Decastro  was  walking  at  a  good  pace  during  this 
his  soliloquy,  for  he  was  one  of  those  extraordinary 
men  who  could  walk  and  talk  at  the  same  time,  when 
he  stopped  short  all  on  a  sudden,  just  as  if  he  had  run 
against  another  post, — a  thought  arrested  him,  that 
was  the  reason,  and  not,  as  some  philosophers  conjec- 
ture, because  his  soul  had  forgotten,  at  that  moment, 
what  string  to  pull,  so  pulled  none  at  all,  and  left  the 
machine  of  his  body  to  come  to  a  standstill.  Now 
there  being  a  thick  wall  of  brambles  on  one  side,  and 
the  waters  of  the  lake  on  the  other,  if  Mr.  Decastro's 
soul  had  made  any  blunder  and  twitched  this  string 
instead  of  that,  he  might  have  got  drowned  or 
scratched,  or  set  upon  his  head  with  his  legs  in  the 
air, — no — a  thought  struck  him  and  took  up  the  atten- 
tion of  his  soul  so  much  that  she  threw  down  the  reins 
of  his  body  for  a  moment  as  if  she  had  nothing  else  to 
do  but  think — a  plan  came  into  his  head  to  manage  his 
wife,  to  govern  her  and  please  her  at  the  same  time. 
Such  a  thought  as  that  were  enough  to  stop  the  earth 
in  its  orbit,  turn  its  poles  to  the  sun,  hang  the  tropics 
upon  the  equator,  make  folks  stare  and  sweat  at  Baffin's 
Bay,  and  the  gentlemen  who  live  in  the  torrid  zone, 
call  for  their  great  coats  and  worsted  stockings ; — look 
you,  reader,  every  bad  thing  gives  a  handle  to  pull 
some  good  thing  into  play. 

Mrs.  Decastro  certainly  had  her  good  qualities,  but 
the  soil  of  her  mind  was  crowded  with  a  promiscuous 
vegetation,  here  a  weed  and  there  a  flower.  It  is  a 
very  amazing  matter,  certainly,  to  find  a  woman  with 

[77] 


Wqt  $?i0tot£  of  m.  iflofot  Decastro 

any  bad  quality  at  all  in  her  composition ;  there  is  not 
one  woman  in  ten  millions  that  has  any  fault  at  all,  and 
this  made  Mrs.  Decastro  a  greater  curiosity,  for  she 
had  a  fault,  and  that  fault  was  vanity,  a  very  new  and 
a  very  extraordinary  thing  to  be  found  in  a  lady. — It 
will  be  seen  what  uses  Mr.  Decastro  made  of  it ;  he 
caught  fast  hold  of  her  by  it,  and  led  her, — some  men 
drive  their  wives  like  cattle, — led  her  where  he  pleased, 
and  pleased  her  where  he  led  her  too — he  made  a  great 
fool  of  her  certainly,  but  what  signifies  that  ?  It  was  a 
sign  she  was  not  born  one,  for  then  she  would  have 
been  a  fool  ready  made  to  his  hand.  There  are  male 
fools  plenty,  but  there  never  was  such  a  thing  as  a 
female  fool,  nor  ever  will  be  until  the  world  is  turned 
upside  down. 

Great  things  are  seldom  brought  to  pass  in  a  little 
time;  the  project  which  Mr.  Decastro  had  now  upon 
the  anvil  cost  him  much  thought,  labour,  pain,  and  oil. 
— But  of  this  thus  far.  Matters  were  now  prepared  at 
the  old  castle  for  the  reception  of  his  family ;  the  beds 
were  all  warmed,  rooms  well  aired,  owls  and  jackdaws 
smoked  out  of  the  chimneys,  toads  as  broad  as  a  pair  of 
bellows,  and  lizards  as  long  as  a  man's  leg,  had  been 
driven  out  of  the  cellars,  and  the  spiders  had  all  notice 
to  quit  with  a  great  broom  at  their  tails.  Mr.  Decas- 
tro's  dead  stock  had  been  come  some  time,  and  disposed 
of  in  the  proper  places  under  the  eye  and  order  of  him- 
self and  Mrs.  B.  Decastro,  when  the  day  came  to  bring 
the  living. 

Mr.  Decastro  was  walking,  as  usual,  on  the  banks  of 
the  lake  in  a  deep  muse  upon  family  matters,  with 
more  running  in  his  head  than  was  running  out  of  it, 
his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  his  hands  thrust  into  his 

[78] 


f&ty  l)i$toty>  of  spr*  3f]otyt  EDeeastto 

breeches'  pockets,  and  his  cane  stuck  in  his  left  boot, 
when,  all  on  a  sudden,  he  ran  against  Old  Crab,  who 
took  it  into  his  head  to  stand  still,  seeing  him  a  com- 
ing, and  put  out  an  elbow  to  receive  the  momentum 
of  his  brother's  body. 

"  How  now,  brother  John  ?  "  quoth  he.  "  I  have 
brought  your  wife  and  family  out  of  the  south — hold 
up  thine  head,  man,  and  look  the  world  in  the  face 
again — all's  paid,  and  your  creditors  kicked  out  of  the 
creation." 

Mr.  Decastro  was  much  affected  at  the  sight  of  his 
brother,  but  we  have  not  time  to  draw  his  picture, 
when  bouncing  upon  Old  Crab  on  a  sudden  made  him 
feel  just  as  if  his  heart  was  dipt  in  cold  water.  Shak- 
ing of  hands  and  many  thanks  for  services  now  passed, 
and  sundry  questions  upon  divers  matters. — "What,  is 
all  mine  in  the  north,  brother  Bat  ? " 

Old  Crab.  Every  acre,  John,  and  the  old  castle  to 
boot — all's  sold  in  the  south :  but  you  will  find  bread 
and  cheese  here,  and  a  good  house  to  eat  it  in,  if  you 
have  wit  enough  in  your  head  to  keep  a  good  house  over 
it,  and  know  when  you  are  well  off.  I  have  just  put 
your  wife  and  family  into  the  castle,  and  come  out  to 
look  for  you. 

Mr.  Decastro.  Well,  but  how  can  this  be,  brother 
Bat  ?  my  wife  and  I  made  out  the  aggregate  debt  to 
be 

O.  C.  A  fool's  reckoning — and  what  else  could  be 
expected  when  two  fools  laid  their  heads  together? 
I  paid  away  one  hundred  and  ninety  thousand  pounds 
to  redeem  your  body  from  your  creditors,  and  your  soul 
from  the  devil,  I  hope,  at  the  same  time,  which  is  more 
to  the  purpose;  for  both  were  in  a  hopeful  way,  this 

[79] 


Wqt  JtntftotE  of  gpt,  31o^n  2Deea$tto 

running  as  fast  into  hell  as  that  into  a  jail,  and  that 
they  might  both  do  at  the  same  time  and  go  the  same 
way. 

Mr.  D.  Brother  Bat,  the  talk  which  we  have  had 
together  has  made  another  man  of  me:  I  believe  all 
that  you  have  told  me  to  be  true  because  I  cannot 
prove  it  to  be  false ;  and  I  am  apt  to  think  it  no  very 
easy  matter  to  deceive  me;  for,  though  books  and  I 
were  never  much  acquainted,  I  never  heard  of  a  fool 
being  born  in  our  family. 

O.  C.  Peace  be  to  the  fools,  John!  I  remember 
when  your  mother  was  brought  to  bed  of  an  ass;  and 
the  way  in  which  you  have  gone  on  for  some  years 
past  puts  no  great  addition  to  the  wisdom  of  the  fam- 
ily: but  you  are  come  to  be  another  man,  you  say, 
pray  what  sort  of  a  gentleman  is  he  ? 

Mr.  D.  One  of  your  own  making,  brother  Bat,  as 
far  as  opinion  goes ;  I  am  brought  over  by  your  argu- 
ments to  your  creed ;  there  is  more  in  them  I  will  fairly 
own  than  I  ever  expected  to  find,  or  I  can  gainsay, 
which  weighs  not  a  little  with  me.  I  have  got  my  cate- 
chism by  heart,  since  you  have  been  gone,  can  answer 
any  question  in  it,  and  understand  both  question  and 
answer  by  the  help  of  your  little  book  of  explanations : 
in  a  word,  I  am  become  a  Christian  and  am  willing  to 
be  confirmed  the  first  opportunity. 

O.  C.  All's  well  if  you  hold  in  the  mind,  John;  and 
you  have  been  a  stubborn  piece  of  stuff: — be  but  as 
obstinate  in  the  right  as  you  were  in  the  wrong,  and 
you  shall  be  made  a  missionary  by  order  of  government 
to  convert  London  to  Christianity ;  and  it  is  high  time 
it  were  looked  to  before  we  send  out  another  cargo  of 
parsons  to  convert  the  savages,  when  there  is  so  much 

[8°] 


Wqt  J£tetor£  of  spn  ifiotjn  HDeeatftto 

work  to  be  done  at  home.  I  can't  see  what  the  plague 
can  be  expected  in  foreign  parts  when  they  have  let 
the  devil  beat  them  upon  their  own  dunghill. 

Mr.  D.  The  conversion  of  the  place  is  like  to  be 
put  off  for  the  present,  if  it  waits  till  I  come  into  it ; 
for  by  the  glory  of  the  stars  I'll  never  run  my  head 
into  the  smoke  of  it  again  as  long  as  the  motion  of  my 
body  lies  under  the  direction  of  my  will. 

O.  C.  I  say  again,  all's  well,  brother  John,  if  you 
hold  in  the  same  mind ;  it  is  early  days  with  you  yet, 
time  will  try  matters.  Let  us  walk  up  to  the  castle, 
your  wife  and  children  will  be  glad  to  see  you. 

Mr.  D.     One  word,  brother,  one  word — 

O.  C.  What  dost  hang  back  for,  man  ?  You're  not 
afraid  to  see  your  wife  ? 

Mr.  D.  Not  altogether  afraid,  Brother  Bat,  but  one 
word — did  she  come  in  good  humour,  ha,  brother  Bat  ? 
how  did  you  get  her  out  of  London  ? 

O.  C.  Get  her  out !  Why,  she  was  glad  enough  to 
come  out,  though  she  hung  back  a  little  at  first,  till  I 
stuck  spurs  to  her — she  told  me  to  my  head  that  she 
would  not  come  out.  The  devil  you  won't,  madam !  said 
I,  but  I'll  make  you  glad  to  come  out !  so  I  sold  the 
house  over  her  head,  packed  up  the  furniture,  and  sent 
it  into  the  north. 

Mr.  D.  That  was  one  way  to  bring  her  out.  But 
to  whom  did  you  sell  the  house,  brother  Bat  ? 

O.  C.  To  the  man  you  had  a  quarrel  with,  Lord 
Delamere — just  the  right  sort  of  ferret  to  make  the 
vermin  bolt — this  turned  the  tables,  and  instead  of 
a  hard  matter  to  get  her  out,  I  had  a  hard  matter  to 
keep  her  in ;  she  would  have  pushed  the  devil  out  of 
the  way  to  have  got  out.  When  you  bought  the  house 
6  [81] 


Qftt  J?istor£  of  $$t.  Jftotyx  EDecastto 

of  him,  she  and  you  together  turned  the  man  and  his 
children  into  the  street  in  a  very  civil  way,  with  a 
pitchfork  at  their  tails.  If  you  have  forgot  it,  she  re- 
membered it,  and  expected  the  pitchfork  in  her's ;  and 
she  should  have  had  it,  if  she  had  hung  back.  You 
will  not  come  out  ?  said  I ;  but  f oregad  you  shall  dance 
out  when  I  play  you  a  tune  on  the  fiddle,  I'll  warrant 
you !  I  held  my  lord  in  check,  or  he'd  have  smoked  her 
skin  for  her !  The  man  would  have  set  his  own  house 
on  fire  if  he  was  sure  of  roasting  her  alive  in  it !  He 
was  so  ravenous  after  her  flesh,  that  he  could  have  eat 
her  with  a  bit  of  salt.  She  was  in  the  devil  of  a  fright ! 
I  never  saw  a  woman  in  such  a  hurry  to  go  the  right 
way  in  my  life ! 

Mr.  D.  I  very  well  remember  our  usage  of  Lord 
Delamere's  family,  and  am,  I  fairly  confess,  very 
heartily  sorry  for  it.  But  no  insult,  I  hope,  was 
offered  ? 

O.  C.  None  at  all.  But  come,  it  gets  late,  and  I 
want  my  dinner. 

And  that  was  a  very  good  reason  for  Old  Crab's 
impatience ;  whereupon  they  walked  into  the  castle. — 
We  promised  something  more  to  come  in  our  bill  of 
fare  to  this  chapter,  but  as  it  has  run  on  to  be  some- 
thing of  the  longest  we  hope  to  be  excused  if  we  put  it 
at  the  beginning  of  the  next. 


[8a] 


CHAPTER    Vlil 

Old  Crab  snaps  at  his  Brother  for  telling  Lies  and  making  a 
Fool  of  his  Wife — He,  that  is  to  say  Mr.  Decastro,  sends 
his  Sons  Frederick  and  Acerbus  to  Eton  School — Some 
Account  of  Old  Crab's  Ward,  Genevieve  de  Roma. 

Mrs.  Decastro  was  very  much  disappointed  at  the 
sight  of  the  old  castle,  not  because  it  was  worse,  but 
because  it  was  a  great  deal  better  than  she  expected  to 
find  it,  and  this  was  a  very  lucky  thing,  and  put  her 
into  very  good  humour.  Old  Crab  had  told  her  the 
debts  were  all  paid,  but  not  what  was  left  to  live  upon ; 
this,  having  cast  up  her  husband's  accounts,  she  con- 
ceived to  be  very  little,  indeed  nothing,  for  the  balance, 
as  she  had  made  it  out  and  her  husband  together,  lay 
all  the  other  way ;  a  circumstance  which  added  not  a 
little  to  her  astonishment  when  she  was  told  that  they 
were  to  live  in  so  grand  a  place.  She  posted  about 
from  room  to  room,  found  silk  in  this,  satin  in  that, 
fine  old  tapestry  in  the  other,  and  gazed  with  rapture 
and  admiration  at  the  painted  windows  and  painted 
ceilings ;  but  where  the  money  was  to  come  from  that 
should  keep  them  in  such  a  place  was  the  greatest 
wonder  of  all.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  falling  to 
figures  gave  a  very  lucky  push  to  Old  Crab's  plan,  and 
added  not  a  little  to  their  panic ;  they  got  frightened 
indeed  more  than  came  to  their  share,  but  it  gave  no 
inconsiderable  furtherance  to  their  reformation;  add 
to  which,  vanity  ran  on  the  side  of  their  blunders; 

[83] 


(&\)t  fyistoty  of  $&t.  31ot)n  ©ecastro 


they  took  it  in  their  heads  that  they  knew  too  much  to 
be  deceived,  and  they  were  willing  to  believe  them- 
selves ruined  ten  times  over,  rather  than  think  it  pos- 
sible that  such  wise  folks  should  commit  any  error  in 
their  calculations.  Two  people  were  never  more  glad 
to  look  like  two  fools,  than  when  Old  Crab  let  the  cat 
out  of  the  bag,  and  told  them,  for  their  comfort,  that 
they  were  a  couple  of  blockheads,  that  they  had  enough 
left,  after  all  was  paid,  to  set  them  up  as  great  people 
in  a  great  house.  No  two  individuals  ever  confessed 
themselves  to  be  great  dunces  with  more  satisfaction. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  and  the  reader  may  re- 
member that  dinner  was  ready,  and  Old  Crab  very 
hungry  at  the  end  of  the  last  chapter ;  as  soon  as  din- 
ner was  over,  at  which  two  old  women  waited,  which 
looked  a  little  odd  in  such  a  magnificent  place,  but  a 
new  set  of  servants  had  scarcely  as  yet  come  into  Mr. 
Decastro's  head,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over — we  shall 
come  to  the  point  presently,  as  soon  as  we  can  get  all 
these  parentheses  out  of  the  way — as  soon  as  dinner 
was  over,  Mr.  Decastro  caught  his  wife  by  the  chin,  as 
his  manner  was  when  earnest  in  any  matter,  and  spake 
as  f olloweth,  videlicet : 

Mr.  D.  I  am  going  to  make  a  confession  which  will 
astonish  you  more  than  ever  you  were  astonished  in 
your  life :  I  have  long  since  made  a  discovery,  which  I 
have  always  kept  to  myself,  that  you  were  a  great  deal 
wiser  than  me.  I  see,  by  your  smile,  that  you  are 
humble  enough  to  take  this  for  a  thing  said  in  jest,  but 
you  do  yourself  too  much  injustice,  and  my  discern- 
ment at  the  same  time,  to  suppose,  that  you  have  not 
a  great  deal  more  sense  than  me,  and  that  I  have  not 
the  penetration  to  find  it  out;  if  it  be  at  all  doubted, 

[34] 


Wtyt  $?t0tot:£  of  £pi\  3floim  SDrcastro 

however,  I  can  give  some  proofs  of  it.  Your  leaving 
London  so  readily  is  a  sign  that  you  have  the  good 
sense  to  despise  it,  that  you  lived  in  it,  not  because 
you  could  not  live  out  of  it,  but  because  I  lived  in  it, 
who  was  not  above  it  but  in  it ;  immersed  in  it,  and  in 
love  with  it,  you  saw  that  town  was  my  toy,  my  play- 
thing, and  though  above  it  yourself,  humoured  me  in  it 
as  a  child.  All  this  I  have  seen,  but  felt  too  much 
envy  at  your  superior  sense  to  own  it  till  now  that  I 
am  grown  another  man,  a  metamorphosed  thing  from 
what  I  was.  To  know  and  to  confess  that  you  are 
wiser  than  me,  argues  no  mean  alteration  in  me.  My 
brother  Bat  has  taught  me  some  new  lessons,  one  is, 
to  pay  every  body  what  is  due  to  them,  whether  it  be 
money  or  merit;  I  therefore  come  to  put  his  lessons  in 
practice,  and  pay  you  what  is  due  to  you.  I  have  been 
a  long  time  your  debtor,  the  debt  is  never  the  less  due 
because  it  is  long  due.  The  gay  and  idle  pleasures  of 
the  world,  I  own,  I  have  ever  been  much  in  love  with, 
notwithstanding  the  rare  example  I  had  daily  in  my 
sight,  I  mean  yourself,  who  indulged  me  in  my  toys, 
and  seemed  pleased  with  them  yourself,  on  purpose  to 
please  me,  whom  you  loved  as  one  loves  a  child,  and 
pities  at  the  same  time  he  loves  it.  But  I  am  now 
come  to  a  determination  to  have  done  with  these 
things,  and  am  willing  to  put  myself  under  your  in- 
structions and  advice,  how  to  get  that  contempt  for  all 
the  fashionable  follies  of  the  world  which  you  were 
ever  ready  to  teach  me  had  I  but  been  as  ready  to 
learn.  It  shall  go  hard,  but  I  will  become  a  husband 
more  deserving  of  such  a  wife ;  and  in  order  to  it  I  put 
myself  into  your  hands  like  a  child ;  you  must  guide 
my  feet,  teach  me  how  to  walk,  and  lend  me  a  hand 

[85] 


Wqt  fyi&toty  of  spr.  iflolm  Dtxastro 

until  I  can  go  without  falling.  My  brother  Bat  has 
told  me  that  he  who  is  high  in  mind  is  low  in  merit,  I 
humbly  call  upon  you  therefore  to  help  the  weak ;  to 
look  down  upon  me,  not  to  despise  me,  but  to  pity  and 
raise  me ;  not  to  think  that  I  beg  of  you  to  give  you 
credit  for  more  than  you  are  worth,  but  to  bestow  an 
alms  which  will  make  me  rich  without  making  you 
poor,  for  kind  advice  is  not  the  least  of  alms-deeds. 

Mrs.  D.  All  you  have  just  now  said  is  very  surpris- 
ing, my  dear,  and  argues  a  very  great  change  in  your 
sentiments  and  opinions,  so  great  that  I  could  scarce 
believe  that  it  were  you  that  have  been  talking :  and  I 
must  confess  that  you  certainly  would  have  been  much 
wiser  than  you  are,  if  you  had  more  frequently  taken 
my  advice,  and  been  less  obstinate  in  your  own  way : 
in  regard  to  the  pleasures  of  the  gay  world  which  have 
cost  us  a  great  deal  and  left  us  very  little  to  show  for 
it,  they  are  little  less  than  empty  shells  without  ker- 
nels, chaff  left  by  the  wise  for  fools  to  purchase  at  ten 
times  the  price  which  they  buy  the  grain  itself  for ;  this 
I  believe  to  be  very  true,  and  we  have  had  some  experi- 
ence of  it  which  we  shall  do  well  to  bring  to  good  ac- 
count. But  in  regard  to  our  own  matters,  we  have 
fallen  into  some  very  unaccountable  errors  which  I  own 
I  am  not  a  little  astonished  at,  and  how  it  would  come 
I  cannot  see.  If  you  had  let  me  alone  to  cast  up  the 
bills  and  accounts  by  myself  all  might  have  been  right 
enough,  and  we  had  no  occasion  to  have  frightened 
ourselves  out  of  our  wits  in  this  manner ;  but  you  must 
poke  in  your  nose,  puzzling,  and  put  every  thing  into 
confusion.  I  am  glad,  however,  you  see  your  own  in- 
sufficiency at  last,  and  find  whereabouts  it  is  that  the 
fool  sits  in  the  family. — Yes,  I  confess,  I  am  above  the 

[86] 


W$t  totorp  of  flpr.  3]o^n  SOccastio 

silly  pleasures  and  pursuits  of  the  gay  world,  and  ever 
have  been,  and  have  dropped  hints  to  that  purpose 
from  time  to  time  in  your  ear,  to  just  as  good  purpose 
as  if  I  had  taken  a  flint  and  steel  and  struck  sparks 
into  a  basin  of  water.  Now,  my  love,  I  must  fairly 
own  that  I  never  heard  you  speak  so  much  to  the  pur- 
pose, and  so  much  truth  in  my  life  as  you  have  just 
now  done :  not  that  I  think  any  more  highly  of  myself 
at  all  for  what  you  have  found  in  me,  it  is  no  news  to 
me,  but  that  you  should  have  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  it  is  news  indeed,  and  very  much  raises  you  in  my 
good  opinion ;  and  I  certainly  think  that  the  only  way 
for  you  to  come  to  be  deserving  of  such  a  woman  as 
myself,  is  to  put  yourself  entirely  into  my  hands,  and 
leave  the  sole  management  of  yourself  and  all  your 
concerns  to  me.  Every  blunder,  every  mismanage- 
ment, every  false  step,  and  every  foolish  thing  that  has 
been  committed  in  our  family  ever  since  we  have  been 
married,  I  think  you  have  now  the  good  sense  to  allow, 
should  be  entirely  set  down  to  your  own  account — your 
own  pride,  folly,  obstinacy,  self-conceit  and  self-will; 
and  if  the  management  of  all  had  been  wisely  left  to 
me,  no  ill  thing  at  all  would  once  have  befallen  us. 
Put  yourself  into  my  hands,  my  dear,  put  yourself  en- 
tirely under  my  government,  and  I  will  finish  in  you 
what  your  good  brother  has  so  well  begun. 

Mr.  D.  But  what  if  it  be  said  that  you  rule  your 
husband,  my  dear?  How  shall  we  avoid  such  a  sad 
scandal  as  that?  If  I  could  get  instructed  by  you 
without  your  being  seen  to  rule  me — 

Mrs.  D.  If  I  tied  you  to  a  bed-post  and  gave  you 
a  good  flogging  every  morning  as  soon  as  you  got  up, 
and  every  night  before  you  went  to  bed,  who  is  to 

[87] 


W$t  I?t0tort>  of  99r.  31o^n  SDecastro 

know  any  thing  about  the  matter  in  such  a  place  as 
this,  unless  the  oak  told  it  to  the  ash,  the  ash  to  the 
elm,  and  the  elm  to  the  sycamore  ? 

Mr.  D.  Very  true,  my  dear ;  a  woman  might  chop 
her  husband  into  little  bits,  and  make  mince-pies  of 
him,  and  none  the  wiser  in  this  sequestered  spot ;  but 
the  truly  wise  and  the  truly  good  will  be  so  in  a  wilder- 
ness where  none  look  on,  as  well  as  in  a  crowd  where 
all  look  on.  I  should  be  as  much  astonished  to  see  a 
woman  of  so  much  good  sense  do  a  thing  in  an  unin- 
habited desert  which  were  like  to  disgrace  her,  as  be 
guilty  of  an  act  of  merit  in  the  middle  of  a  town  for 
the  sake  of  being  seen  and  getting  praised  for  it. 

Mrs.  D.  There  is  a  glimpse  of  hope  that  all  my 
good  qualities  will  not  be  thrown  away  upon  you — and 
I  must  own  I  have  long  since  felt  something  like  de- 
spair upon  this  matter.  I  begin  to  think  better  of  Old 
Crab  than  ever ;  he  certainly  is  a  very  sensible  man ; 
he  had  never  opened  such  eyes  as  yours  so  effectually, 
and  in  so  short  a  time  else. 

Mr.  D.  Why,  my  dear,  I  should  not  have  said  so 
much  in  your  praise,  certainly,  if  I  had  not  known  you 
to  be  a  woman  of  too  much  good  sense  to  hear  it  and 
get  intoxicated  by  it — to  be  too  much  above  all  praise, 
to  be  at  all  influenced  by  it : — it  is  dirt  under  the  feet 
of  one  whose  head  glitters  amidst  the  stars. 

At  these  words  Mrs.  Decastro  arose  to  retire  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  a  very  grand  apartment  was 
prepared  for  that  purpose,  with  a  face  so  full  of  smiles 
that  you  could  not  have  stuck  a  pin  in  it  any  where 
without  running  it  into  a  smirk:  some  say  that  she 
staid  till  the  very  last  moment  in  the  dining-room — but 

[88] 


GTlje  l^tsftor^  of  tyt.  31oljn  SDetasftro 

what  they  mean  by  "  the  very  last  moment,"  we  cannot 
tell;  it  made  a  joke,  however,  amongst  the  ladies,  who 
laughed  when  they  heard  it  said,  that  she  staid  until 
the  very  last  moment — but  they  will  have  a  piece  of 
fun  sometimes  to  themselves.  Old  Crab,  who  had 
slept  during  great  part  of  this  talk  between  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Decastro,  and  only  catched  here  and  there  a  sen- 
tence of  it,  now  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  spake  as  follows : 
O.  C.  It  is  no  little  mortification  to  a  man  of  com- 
mon sense  that  all  the  fools  are  not  born  dumb.  To 
hear  a  thing  of  human  proportions  talk  nonsense  is 
enough  to  put  one  out  of  humour  with  the  human  fig- 
ure. What  a  pity  it  is  that  a  man  should  not  only  be  a 
fool,  but  have  it  in  his  power  to  publish  it  by  word  of 
mouth !  but  the  devil  of  it  is,  that  the  greatest  fools 
are  always  the  greatest  talkers;  just  as  if  one  needs 
talk  as  much  as  ten  to  convince  others  what  a  fool  he 
is.  I  had  rather  see  a  fool  vomit,  at  any  time,  than 
hear  him  talk ;  nothing  could  come  from  his  stomach 
so  offensive  by  half  as  what  comes  from  his  head. 
John,  you  cannot  speak  five  words  without  committing 
a  nuisance !  what  the  plague  d'ye  tell  your  wife  a  pack 
of  lies  for  to  bring  her  over  to  your  purposes  ?  Why 
don't  you  tell  her  at  once  that  if  she  has  not  a  mind  to 
live  here  she  may  look  for  her  lodgings  and  be  hanged 
— pack  up  and  march  ? — What  an  ass  art  thou  to  pickle 
a  rod  for  thine  own  back !  Make  your  wife  madam  up- 
permost, and  pull  her  down  if  you  can.  It  is  the  whole 
work  of  some  men's  lives  to  keep  their  jades  down  and 
get  nothing  but  their  labour  for  their  pains,  and  you 
must  turn  your  own  house  into  a  school  and  go  and 
take  lessons  of  your  wife  in  it,  like  a  blockhead.  You 
deserve  to  get  your  rump  well  clawed,  and  your  head 

[89] 


Wyt  history  of  spr.  3!oljn  SDerastro 

well  combed  with  a  three-legged  stool.  It  is  ordered 
that  the  woman  be  obedient  to  the  man,  be  in  subjec- 
tion to  her  husband,  and  learn  of  him  at  home,  and  not 
he  of  her.  What  art  at,  John  ?  give  your  commands 
like  a  man,  and  not  come  down  upon  all  fours  like  a 
brute,  and  bid  the  woman  get  upon  your  back  and  ride 
you  like  an  ass.  Adam  must  needs  be  such  a  fool  as 
to  be  ruled  by  his  wife,  and  you  see  what  came  of  it ; 
and  you  will  get  turned  out  of  your  house  as  he  was 
out  of  Paradise,  if  you  let  madam  have  her  head. 
Thou  art  folly  to  the  brim,  John ;  thou  canst  not  take 
more  of  fool  than  thou  canst  hold,  all  the  rest  runs 
over  and  is  wasted. 

Mr.  D.  Look  you,  brother  Bat,  you  mistake  my 
aim,  I  would  keep  my  wife  in  good  humour  and  rule 
her  at  the  same  time.  Why  take  a  cudgel  when  the 
thing  may  be  done  by  a  little  sugar-candy  ?  I  hate  a 
broil,  and  if  I  can  oil  her  over  I  see  no  great  harm  in 
that. 

O.  C.  You  will  mend  matters  finely  by  telling  the 
woman  a  great  lie,  though  her  pride  will  be  sure  to 
make  her  believe  it.  Thou  shalt  not  do  evil  that  good 
may  come,  brother  John. 

Mr.  D.  It  is  a  profanation,  brother  Bat,  to  bring  in 
the  Bible  to  such  frivolous  matters ;  it  can  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  compliments  paid  to  the  ladies,  it  were 
irreverence  to  name  its  name  in  such  light  and  ludi- 
crous things. 

O.  C.  I  am  glad  the  Bible  hath  your  reverence  at 
last — but  a  lie  is  no  light  thing,  brother  John :  get  a 
habit  of  a  thing  and  get  rid  of  it  if  you  can ;  a  bad 
habit  is  no  ludicrous  matter.  I  am  glad  to  find,  how- 
ever, that  you  have  been  reading  your  Bible  since  I 

[90] 


&\)i  piston?  of  90t.  3|ot)n  EDccaatro 

have  been  gone ;  for  you  cannot  well  detect  another  in 
quoting  a  book  without  having  read  the  book  itself 
with  some  attention.  But  you  can  find  no  rules  set 
down  in  it  how  to  cheat  and  tell  lies,  I  warrant.  Do 
as  the  Bible  bids  you  and  you  cannot  be  wrong,  do 
other  than  it  bids  you  and  you  cannot  be  right,  John : 
but  more  of  this  another  time.  A  word  with  you,  sir ; 
you'll  make  this  minx  as  proud  as  old  Satan,  and  if  you 
and  she  fall  out  she'll  cast  your  compliments,  as  you 
call  them,  in  your  teeth.  You  make  her  a  goddess, 
and  let  her  alone  for  exacting  divine  honours.  Flat- 
tery is  the  key  to  a  woman's  heart,  it  unlocks  the  door 
and  lets  in  the  devil ;  and  when  he  once  gets  in  it  will 
be  more  than  one  man's  work  to  turn  him  out  again, 
for  the  casting  out  of  devils  was  always  called  a  mira- 
cle. It  is  a  wife's  duty  to  obey  her  husband,  and  it  is 
a  husband's  duty  to  use  no  undue  means  in  order 
to  such  obedience ;  but  if  a  man  raises  the  devil  in  a 
woman's  heart  byway  of  guarantee  to  the  performance 
of  it,  she  will  obey  the  devil  indeed,  but  soon  set  her 
husband  at  defiance. 

Old  Crab  was  very  sleepy,  and  yawned  several  times 
during  the  above  speech,  which  may  account,  in  some 
measure,  for  the  breaks  in  it,  and  the  dulness  of  it; 
when,  giving  his  brother  an  earnest  that  he  would  re- 
new the  subject  at  another  time,  he  took  his  hat  and 
stick  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  his  farm. 

Able  politicians  agree  that  in  the  composition  of  all 
wise  governments,  some  evil  is  a  very  good  thing ;  that 
is  to  say,  if  the  devil  have  not  some  hand  in  the  matter, 
there  must  needs  be  a  sad  flaw  in  the  constitution. 
The  devil  is  in  it  if  all  is  not  right  then,  when,  if  the 

[>] 


Gtfje  fyi&toty  of  $®t.  J{o\)n  Decafitro 

devil  be  not  in  it,  all  must  be  wrong.  Mr.  Decastro 
saw,  and  wisely,  that  the  government  of  a  wife  were  a 
matter  of  such  importance  that  he  never  stuck  at  the 
means  when  he  had  such  an  end  in  his  eye.  Gentle- 
men are  to  do  as  they  please  with  their  wives,  if  their 
wives  will  be  so  good  as  to  let  them,  certainly,  and  if  a 
woman  be  not  sweetened  to  a  man's  taste  until  he  has 
made  a  great  fool  of  her,  why,  surely,  no  wise  woman 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  can  have  any  the  least  objec- 
tion to  that. 

The  ladies,  we  doubt,  will  lose  all  patience  at  reading 
so  far  without  coming  to  any  love  in  our  book.  We  beg 
in  this  place  to  make  our  apology,  and  say,  that  they 
will  very  soon  come  to  a  great  deal  of  it,  if  they  can 
but  be  content  for  a  little :  there  will  be  no  less  than 
three  very  pretty  girls  to  be  disposed  of,  and  they  will 
have  the  inexpressible  delight  to  see  them  all  fairly  eat 
up  one  after  another. 

Now,  reader,  lest  we  grow  prolix,  you  must  help  us 
out  a  little  with  your  imagination; — imagine,  for  in- 
stance, that  Mr.  Decastro,  feeling  the  money  to  spring 
in  his  pockets  again,  hired  servants,  bought  horses,  put 
deer  into  his  park,  wine  into  his  cellars,  carriages  into 
his  coach-houses,  built  pineries,  planted  graperies, 
erected  hot-houses,  and  called  all  his  little  necessary 
matters  about  him;  for,  upon  the  falling  in  of  some 
good  old  leases,  Old  Crab,  his  trusty  and  faithful  stew- 
ard, raised  his  income  to  the  noble  sum  of  three  and 
twenty  thousand  pounds  a-year,  bade  him  leave  off 
playing  the  fool,  and  live  like  a  gentleman. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  now  began  to  be  a  little  set- 
tled in  their  chairs,  and,  to  the  end  that  madam  might 
sit  the  more  at  her  ease  in  her's,  her  good  husband 

O] 


W$t  Jjt0toi*£  of  £j3r.  2fiotm  Decastro 

took  care  that  she  should  have  a  soft  cushion  put  under 
her  particular.  Every  day  discovered  a  new  beauty, 
or  a  new  excellence  in  her,  which  Mr.  Decastro  had 
never  seen  before. 

But  having  just  talked  about  three  pretty  girls,  and 
made  our  readers'  mouths  water,  we  will  now  bring 
them  a  little  acquainted  with  Old  Crab's  ward,  Gene- 
vieve de  Roma.  Mr.  Decastro  had  three  sisters,  two 
of  which  were  what  the  world  calls  well-married,  that 
is  to  say,  one  married  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  and  the 
other  a  baronet,  Sir  John  Lamsbroke,  of  Lamsbroke 
Park ;  the  third  was  what  the  world  calls  very  ill-mar- 
ried, she  married  a  Jew,  named  de  Roma,  who  had  two 
hundred  pounds,  and  no  more  in  the  world.  Now  in 
the  two  former  marriages  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
money  but  no  love ;  in  the  latter  a  great  deal  of  love, 
but  no  money.  Margaret,  for  that  was  the  name  of 
her  that  bestowed  her  heart  upon  one  of  the  circum- 
cised, made  her  father  exceeding  angry  at  her  choice, 
not  because  she  chose  a  Jew,  but  because  she  chose 
one  that  was  not  as  rich  as  a  Jew. 

"  Peg,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  and  swore  a  terrible 
oath,  a  vice  he  had,  "if  you  marry  the  Jew,  I'll  not 
give  thee  a  penny ;  discard  Abimeleck,  and  thou  shalt 
lie  in  my  will  for  a  good  round  sum  of  money." 

Peggy,  however,  had  no  mind  to  part  with  her  sweet- 
heart, so  she  married  him,  and  away  they  went  together 
to  the  West  Indies,  and,  what  was  very  amazing,  they 
did  not  sink  the  ship  with  the  weight  of  their  money. 
The  Jew  behaved  like  a  noble  fellow.  He  expected  a 
large  fortune  with  his  wife ;  gold,  however,  was  not  the 
cement  that  stuck  him  to  his  Peggy,  for  her  father  was 

[93] 


X&ty  piston?  of  $pr.  31o^n  2r>ecastro 

as  good  as  his  word,  he  would  not  give  her  one  far- 
thing, but  divided  her  fortune  between  her  two  sisters, 
who  did  not  want  money,  and  left  poor  Peggy  with 
nothing  but  his  curse  to  live  upon.  In  a  few  years, 
however,  the  active  Jew  grew  rich,  and  by  industry, 
frugality,  and  care,  got  money  as  fast  as  he  could  count 
it.  Abimeleck  de  Roma  was  honest  and  just  in  all 
his  dealings,  and  much  beloved;  so  much  so,  that  a 
friend,  who  died  in  his  neighbourhood,  left  him  all  his 
property;  this,  put  to  his  own,  set  the  Jew  upon  a 
mountain  of  gold.  Now  this  was  one  of  fortune's 
lucky  hits.  For  once  she  bestowed  her  favours  on  a  man 
of  merit.  But  who  can  count  a  penny  or  a  moment 
upon  the  good  things  of  this  world  ?  Poor  de  Roma 
lost  his  Peggy  in  childbed  of  Genevieve,  the  only  sur- 
viving child  of  eleven,  and  soon  after  died  himself  of  a 
broken  heart.  Finding  how  matters  were  like  to  be, 
he  converted  all  his  property  into  money,  and,  leaving 
all  to  his  infant  daughter,  made  Old  Crab,  whom  he 
well  knew,  her  guardian  and  trustee.  The  will  di- 
rected that  the  little  orphan's  money  should  be  vested 
in  the  English  funds,  and,  if  occasion  offered,  that  good 
part  of  it  should  be  laid  out  in  land.  If  the  little  girl 
should  die  before  she  grew  to  be  of  age,  or  to  be  mar- 
ried, Old  Crab,  who  had  been  disinherited  by  his  father, 
should  stand  in  reversion  to  the  whole  property.  She 
should  be  bred  in  the  best  school  that  was  to  be  had, 
and  suitably  in  all  respects  to  her  large  fortune,  which 
amounted  at  that  time  to  one  hundred  thousand  pounds. 
Of  all  children  ever  seen  in  the  world,  Genevieve, 
during  the  first  ten  years  of  her  life,  was,  perhaps,  the 
most  ugly  and  disgusting :  but  what  astonished  people 
the  most  was  her  size,  vast  strength,  and  fierceness  of 

[94] 


Sije  totorp  of  £®v.  Kloljn  ©ccastro 

mind.  She  got  the  name  of  the  young  dragon,  and 
none  could  manage  her,  for  none  she  feared,  except 
Old  Crab,  who  made  no  scruple  to  take  a  cudgel  to  her 
when  she  was  in  her  tantrums,  and  give  her  a  sound 
drubbing.  At  the  age  of  ten  she  was  sent  to  the  best 
school  in  London,  and,  by  the  good  management  of  the 
people  there,  her  devil  was  cast  out,  or  rather  tamed, 
and  she  began  to  show  some  signs  of  beauty  both  in 
face  and  figure.  She  suddenly  grew  tall,  and  her  face 
from  being  broader  than  it  was  long  to  grow  longer 
than  it  was  broad ;  her  complexion,  which  had  always 
looked  like  soot  mixed  with  fuller's  earth,  cleared  up 
into  a  fine  brunette,  and  her  features,  as  if  touched  by 
some  magician's  wand,  grew  astonishingly  beautiful; 
her  hair  and  eyes  were  as  black  as  jet;  the  form  of  her 
face  Grecian;  she  was  very  large,  but  finely  shaped, 
and  quite  six  feet  in  height. — But  of  Genevieve  thus 
far. 

Now,  reader,  we  have  made  a  great  blunder,  which, 
we  dare  engage  for  thy  sagacity,  thou  hast  long  since 
discovered,  and  if  thou  hast  not,  thou  art  not  a  little 
mortified,  we  think,  at  its  having  made  its  escape  from 
thine  observation;  but,  perhaps,  thou  hast  found 
enough  besides  to  make  thine  acuteness  ample  amends. 
— We  should  have  put  the  boys  the  first,  and  Gene- 
vieve the  last,  for  so  we  gave  it  out  in  the  title  to  the 
chapter.  We  may  plead  good-breeding,  however,  and 
let  the  lady  go  first,  and  the  gentlemen,  as  is  fit,  come 
after. 

The  tables  and  chairs  were  now  all  set  in  their  places 
at  the  castle,  and  every  body  knew  where  to  look  for 
salt,  and  where  to  find  the  mustard :  the  old  women 

[95] 


Gtfj£  J?tetorv  of  !$r.  31oijn  2T>eea0tro 

were  put  to  scrub  floors  and  wash  dishes ;  and  when 
Mrs.  Decastro  rang  her  bell,  a  butler,  or  a  fine  footman 
in  a  superb  livery,  made  his  appearance,  and  waited  her 
commands.  As  for  Mr.  Decastro,  his  moulting  time 
was  over,  and  he  looked  sleek  and  spruce  all  in  new 
feathers.  Mrs.  Decastro  had  poked  her  nose,  at  least 
three  times  over,  into  every  crack  and  corner  of  the 
castle,  stared  at  the  magnificent  towers  without,  and 
the  grand  painted  ceilings  within,  until  her  eyes  ran 
with  water.  As  soon  as  the  newness  of  the  old  castle 
was  a  little  rubbed  off,  Mrs.  Decastro  began  to  grow 
restless  in  the  midst  of  grandeur.  What  is  the  good 
of  a  fine  thing,  if  one  cannot  show  it  to  another  ?  She 
began  to  want  sadly  to  see  company  again,  for  here  was 
no  soul  but  Old  Crab  and  his  wife  and  little  Julia,  her 
husband,  the  two  boys,  and  young  Genevieve.  Poor 
woman !  she  was  like  to  be  moped  to  death !  and,  what 
was  worse,  was  afraid  to  own  it,  for  her  husband  had 
plied  her  so  closely  with  doses  of  adulation,  that  she 
was  quite  sick  of  her  own  virtues.  It  is  an  ill  wind 
that  blows  nobody  any  good,  as  Queen  Elizabeth  said 
of .* 

*  Once,  making  a  low  obeisance  to  the  Queen,  before  the 
whole  court,  this  stately  and  inflated  peer  suffered  a  mis- 
chance, which  has  happened,  it  is  said,  on  a  like  occasion — it 
was  light  as  air!  .  .  .  He  resolved  from  that  day  to  be  "a 
banished  man,"  and  resided  for  seven  years  in  Italy,  living 
in  more  grandeur  at  Florence  than  the  Grand  Duke  of  Tus- 
cany. On  his  return  he  presented  the  Queen  with  embroid- 
ered gloves  and  perfumes,  then  for  the  first  time  introduced 
into  England.  Part  of  the  new  presents  seem  to  have  some 
reference  to  the  Earl's  former  mischance.  The  Queen  re- 
ceived them  graciously,  and  was  even  painted  wearing  these 
gloves ;  but  my  authority  states,  that  the  masculine  sense  of 

[96] 


Stje  J?i$tor£  of  i$r.  3loim  2Dtcastro 

Mrs.  Decastro  had  been  blown  into  such  high  lati- 
tudes by  her  husband's  praises,  that  she  could  have 
been  glad  at  times  to  have  got  safe  back  again  with  all 
her  heart.  She  found  it  very  troublesome  to  be  very 
good  and  very  excellent,  and  to  be  made  a  goddess. 
It  put  such  a  restraint  upon  her,  that  she  was  forced  to 
be  better  than  she  used  to  be,  at  times,  to  save  her 
credit,  though  she  was  willing  to  make  her  husband's 
words  good,  at  as  little  expense  as  possible.  She  was 
ashamed  to  say  she  was  dull  at  Oaken  Grove,  or  show 
any  discontent,  because  such  a  sensible  woman  as  she 
was,  forsooth,  had  too  many  resources  in  herself  to 
stand  in  any  need  of  those  toys,  playthings,  and  fiddle- 
faddles,  that  took  up  the  time  and  attention  of  women 
of  inferior  minds — she  would  not  have  gone  to  a  ball, 
if  she  had  come  within  hearing  of  the  fiddles,  not  she 
— no — she  was  put  far  above  all  such  giddy  childish 
trifles ;  she  was  made  too  wise  to  regard  these  things, 
she  was  not  as  other  women  were ;  she  had  put  her 
sex  under  her  feet ;  she  had  too  much  vanity  not  to  be 
very  good,  too  much  pride  not  to  be  a  piece  of  excel- 
lence. 

Now  she  could  have  been  very  glad  to  have  got  all 
these  fine  things  for  nothing,  but  the  pity  of  it  is  that 
the  finer  every  thing  is  the  more  it  unluckily  costs  us. 
Mrs.  Decastro  could  have  been  glad  enough  to  have 
stood  above  others,  and  kept  the  precedence  which  her 
husband  gave  her,  but  she  did  not,  and  for  this  reason, 

Elizabeth  could  not  abstain  from  congratulating  the  noble 
coxcomb ;  perceiving,  she  said,  that  at  length  my  lord  had 
forgot  the  mentioning  the  little  mischance  of  seven  years  ago  ! 
(D'Israeli's  "Curiosities  of  Literature,"  vol.  ii.,  "Secret  His- 
tory of  Edward  Vere,  Earl  of  Oxford.") — Editor's  Note. 

1  [97] 


Ws>t  piston?  of  99r*  3f]olw  SDceastro 

viz.,  because  she  could  not.  Some  good,  however,  came 
of  those  evil  means  which  Old  Crab  condemned,  she 
took  it  into  her  head  to  come  to  church  to  shore  up  the 
reputation  of  being  both  wise  and  good,  since  the  wis- 
est and  best  people  of  all  ages  have  ever  been  the  most 
religious. 

But  we  have  forgot  the  boys  again ! — Mr.  Decastro 
was  got  at  his  old  work  one  day,  making  his  wife  some 
fine  compliments,  when,  having  had  tickling  enough  to 
serve  for  once,  she  put  a  finger  into  one  of  her  hus- 
band's button-holes,  and,  hooking  him  to  her,  spoke  as 
follows : 

"  My  dear,  your  brother  Bat  said  in  his  sermon  last 
Sunday,  that  it  was  very  wicked  to  have  store  of  good 
things  and  keep  all  to  ourselves.  This  was  certainly 
intended  as  a  hint  to  us  who  have  store  of  good  things 
and  keep  all  to  ourselves.  Now  in  regard  to  the  pleas- 
ures and  amusements  of  the  giddy  and  the  loose,  you 
very  well  know  how  much  I  am  above  them,  and  how 
little  I  set  by  them,  but  charity  forbid  that  we  should 
have  much  and  none  be  the  better,  for  so  your  brother 
Bat  held  forth  in  the  pulpit.  We  have  magnificent 
rooms,  but  nobody  comes  into  them.  We  have  cellars 
full  of  fine  wines,  but  nobody  comes  to  taste  a  glass. 
We  have  a  grand  park  full  of  fine  deer,  but  nobody 
comes  to  eat  a  bit  of  venison.  We  have  a  train  of  fine 
footmen  that  are  paid  to  view  their  persons  in  the  look- 
ing-glasses. We  have  a  butler  and  an  under-butler 
that  have  nothing  to  do  but  suck  one  another's  thumbs : 
things  standing  in  this  posture  what  are  we  doing  but 
wasting  those  things  which  others  would  be  happy  to 
partake  in  the  enjoyment  of?  What  is  avarice  but  the 
worst  sort  of  waste  ?     What  is  griping  all  to  oneself  but 

[98] 


®[)t  fi?tstorp  of  99n  3]ol)u  SDrrastro 

avarice  ?  What  is  charity  but  a  distribution  ?  What  "is 
generosity  but  calling  our  friends  about  us,  and  tasting 
the  good  things  which  heaven  has  given  us  together  ? 
What  is  charity  but  a  duty  ?  What  generosity  but  a 
virtue  ?  If  I  am  to  live  in  the  middle  of  a  great  wood 
here,  I  must  beg  to  make  a  few  conditions." 

"  Name  them,"  quoth  Mr.  Decastro. 

"A  few  friends,"  quoth  she. 

"Granted,"  quoth  he. 

"That  the  boys  be  bred  in  the  world,"  quoth  she. 

"  Hum,"  quoth  he. 

"The  boys  are  young  at  present,  but  when  birds- 
nesting  time  is  over  with  them  what  can  they  find  to 
do  in  a  wood  ? — If  I  am  invited  to  a  friend's  house, 
though  it  be  in  London,  I  must  have  leave  of  absence 
for  two  or  three  months  in  a  year." 

"Granted,"  quoth  he. 

"  Four  horses  to  my  carriage." 

"Granted,"  quoth  he. 

"Be  allowed  the  same  for  pin-money  as  usual." 

"Granted,"  quoth  he. 

"Well,  but  the  boys,"  quoth  she. 

"What  of  the  boys  ?  "  quoth  he. 

"Send  them  to  a  public  school,"  quoth  she. 

"Send  them  to  the  devil,"  quoth  he. 

"  The  devil  will  find  them  out  in  private,  as  well  as 
in  public,"  quoth  she. 

"Hum,"  quoth  he,  and  "Hah!"  quoth  Old  Crab, 
who  had  just  come  into  the  room  unobserved,  "you 
have  set  up  your  wife  for  an  idol,  so  come  down  upon 
your  knees  and  worship  her,  you  great  blockhead ! " 

"  You  will  run  all  risks  of  my  taking  your  advice  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Decastro  to  his  wife. 

[99] 


Stic  t?i0torv  of  $0x.  Kjoljn  SDecastro 

"I  will,"  quoth  she — "all  the  merit  of  the  thing,  if  it 
turn  out  well,  being  mine." 

"And  all  the  blame,"  quoth  he,  "if  the  thing  turn 
out  ill,  being  your's  also  ?  " 

"Well,"  quoth  she,  "but  whose  fault  is  it  to  be,  if 
you  are  no  judge,  if  my  advice  should  be  taken  ? " 

"If  the  thing  turn  out  well,"  quoth  he,  "you  will 
have  all  the  merit  of  the  advice ;  but,  if  ill,  am  I  to 
have  all  the  blame  for  acting  upon  it  ? " 

"  Come,"  quoth  she,  "  we  had  best  leave  no  stones 
to  break  windows,  we  will  share  and  share  alike." 

"  But,"  quoth  he,  "you  will  not  blame  me  if  the  thing 
turn  out  ill,  because  I  took  your  advice  ? " 

"  Neither,"  quoth  she,  "if  it  turns  out  well  shall  you 
carry  all  the  merit — at  all  events  the  merit  of  the  ad- 
vice will  be  mine." 

"It  needs  must,"  quoth  he,  "as  well  as  the  blame,  if 
matters  come  wrong,  be  your's  also.  Look  you,  my 
dear,  I  have  a  right  of  choice  to  do  as  I  please,  you 
know,  you  must  needs  lay  that  down :  well,  you  give 
advice — I  take  it  or  refuse  it  as  I  will — if  I  take  it  and 
it  falls  out  ill,  you  have  the  blame  of  the  ill  advice,  and 
I  the  blame  for  taking  it.  If  I  take  it  and  it  fall  out 
well,  I  have  the  merit  of  taking  it,  and  you  the  merit 
of  the  good  advice." 

"Come,"  quoth  she,  "I'll  risk  my  share,  take  it." 

Mr.  Decastro  did  so,  and  soon  afterwards  ordered  his 
carriage  and  wheeled  off  his  seed  to  Eton  College. 


[  IO°] 


CHAPTER    IX 

Some  Account  of  John  Mathers,  otherwise  called  Old  Comical. 

Reader  ! — your  memory  is  better  than  ours — hath 
not  the  name  of  John  Mathers,  alias  Old  Comical, 
already  been  seen  in  this  our  history  ?  To  ask  a  ques- 
tion is  not  to  affirm  a  thing — if  we  were  to  say  it  had 
when  it  had  not,  Horace's  Dormitat*  may  bring  off  old 
Homer,  who  may  take  a  nap  without  getting  his  bones 
broken,  when  all  the  Horaces  in  the  world  would  not 
save  ours  from  being  knocked  into  splinters.  Tis  no 
matter,  let  be,  if  it  has  not  it  shall  and  will  be,  and 
that's  enough;  for  we  hate  the  plague  and  trouble 
of  looking  back  into  what  we  have  written,  a  plague 
and  trouble  which  some  would  be  glad  to  suffer  if 
they  could  catch  us  napping,  as  Horace  says.  But  we 
shall  go  to  sleep,  now  and  then,  for  all  that,  so  let 
people  make  their  best  of  it;  and  if  we  put  you  to 
sleep,  reader,  folks  must  take  a  little  refreshment  on 

*  A  reference  to  the  lines  of  Horace  : — 

Et  idem 
Indignor  quandoque  bonus  dormitat  Homerus, 
Verum  operi  longo  fas  es  obrepere  somnus. 

— De  Arte  Poetic  a. 

Which  are  thus  translated  by  Conington  : 

While  e'en  good  Homer  may  deserve  a  tap, 
If,  as  he  does,  he  drop  his  head  and  nap, 
Yet  when  a  work  is  long,  'twere  somewhat  hard 
To  blame  a  drowsy  moment  in  a  bard. 

— Editor' s  Note. 

[101] 


^Etje  totoi'p  of  $9r,  3|otjn  EDecastro 

their  journey  as  well  through  a  book  as  through  the 
world. 

But  who  is  John  Mathers? — the  son  of  'Squire 
Mathers,  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Cock-a-doodle  of  Cock- 
a-doodle  Hall,  Northamptonshire,  Justice  of  the  Peace, 
one  of  the  Quorum,  and  Custos  Rotulorum.  The  stu- 
dents of  the  University  of  Gottingen,  for  there  was  he 
bred,  gave  him  the  name  of  Old  Comical,  a  merry  seed 
was  he, — when  comes  there  such  another  ? 

His  father  was  a  pretty  gentleman  of  the  place  and 
county  aforesaid,  with  money  in  his  pockets,  and  dirt 
to  his  boots,  it  might  be  some  three  or  four  thousand 
pounds  per  annum:  he  would  laugh,  heaven  rest  his 
merry  soul  and  forgive  it  its  sins,  for  it  was  a  vice  he 
had,  aye,  he  would  laugh — it  would  do  a  man's  heart 
good  to  hear  him.  He  fell  into  a  fit  of  laughter  one 
day,  and  laughed  till  he  was  ready  to  die ;  and,  taking 
it  into  his  head  that  a  man  could  not  die  at  a  pleasanter 
moment,  he  laughed  as  long  as  he  lived,  which  might 
be  five  minutes ;  and  when  the  old  women  laid  out  his 
body  they  all  fell  a  laughing,  for  death  had  left  his 
laugh  upon  his  face  as  fresh  as  if  the  joke  had  been 
that  moment  cracked. 

Hearing  of  his  father's  death,  Old  Comical  came 
home  to  have  an  eye  to  his  father's  will,  if  any  might 
be,  and  see  how  he  stood  for  bread  and  butter.  Now 
there  was  put  over  Old  Comical's  nose  a  thing  called 
an  Elder  Brother,  whom  he  found  in  full  feather  at 
Cock-a-doodle  Hall,  heir  at  law  to  all  his  father's  prop- 
erty, and  his  nose  above  the  stars.  Was  there  no  will  ? 
— none :  at  least  so  his  brother  told  him ;  and  as  for 
lies  there  never  had  been  one  told  in  the  family. 

A  lie  is  one  of  the  handiest  things  that  was  ever  in- 
[102] 


Wt\t  History  of  flpr.  3fioi)n  SDecastro 

vented;  it  was  a  wonder,  wasn't  it,  that  they  never 
found  out  its  sundry  and  manifold  uses  in  this  family  ? 
A  lie  brings  many  an  honest  man  into  house  and  land, 
who  might  have  dined  upon  a  hedgehog,  and  gone  to 
bed  in  a  ditch  and  told  the  truth — starved  all  the  flesh 
off  his  bones  and  turned  them  into  a  multiplication 
table,  like  old  Napier,  the  renowned  mathematician. 

"  What,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  has  my  father  left 
me  nothing  ? " 

"  Not  a  penny,"  quoth  the  young  esquire. 

"  'Sume  my  body,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  what  have 
I  done  to  be  sent  empty  away  ?  " 

"  A  man  might  ask  that  question  and  not  get  an- 
other to  answer  him,"  quoth  the  young  esquire. 

Old  Comical  found  it  to  be  a  waste  of  good  breath 
to  talk  to  a  man  who  had  run  into  the  world  before 
him  and  won  the  sweepstakes,  so,  finding  that  the  very 
dirt  on  his  shoes  was  not  his  own,  and  that  he  were 
like  to  stand  upon  other  people's  ground,  was  willing 
to  be  at  least  as  merry  upon  it  as  the  owner,  so  he  sat 
down  under  a  hedge  and  wrote  a  song,  and,  begging  a 
bit  of  board  of  a  carpenter,  being  asked  to  pay  for  it  he 
put  three  legs  in  it,  and,  mounting  the  stool,  sung  the 
carpenter  his  ballad.  The  carpenter  was  very  well 
satisfied  with  the  song,  and  suffered  Old  Comical  to 
depart  in  peace;  who  went  into  the  next  town,  and 
eating  a  good  dinner,  and  drinking  thereafter  a  pot  of 
the  best  ale,  fell  fast  asleep  at  an  ale  house  fire-side. 
It  growing  late  the  landlord  gave  Old  Comical  a  push 
and  told  him  it  was  time  to  pay  his  reckoning  and  be 
going;  whereupon  Old  Comical  mounted  his  stool,  and, 
pulling  out  his  ballad,  sung  the  same  in  the  ear  of  the 
landlord. 

[103] 


tyfyt  tyistorv  of  tyx.  ^lo&n  E>wa0tro 

As  soon  as  the  landlord  had  done  laughing,  for  it 
was  a  very  merry  song,  he  again  pointed  to  the  chalk 
upon  the  door,  and  again  demanded  his  money;  upon 
which  Old  Comical  rose  upon  his  stool  a  second  time, 
and  sung  his  song  over  again,  and  made  such  a  din,  and 
raised  such  peals  of  laughter,  for  the  neighbours,  hear- 
ing a  merry  sound,  were  gathered  round  the  door,  that 
the  landlord's  voice  was  drowned  in  music  and  merri- 
ment. 

At  length,  finding  that  he  were  like  to  get  nothing 
but  music  for  his  good  cheer,  he  set  his  foot  upon  that 
side  of  Old  Comical  that  comes  after  all  his  other  sides, 
and  bade  him  get  along  for  a  pleasant  rascal :  so  he 
took  his  stool  under  his  arm  and  went  into  a  lodging- 
house,  and  having  ordered  a  good  bed,  got  into  it  and 
slept  very  well.  On  the  morrow  the  mistress  of  the 
house  told  him,  with  a  gentle  rap  at  the  door,  it  was 
time  to  get  up ;  whereupon  up  rose  Old  Comical,  and 
put  on  his  clothes,  and  coming  down  stairs  payment 
was  demanded  for  his  night's  lodging :  upon  which  Old 
Comical  asked  the  landlady  if  she  loved  music  ?  Yes, 
she  loved  music  very  well,  she  said,  but  what  was  that 
to  the  purpose? — she  begged  he  would  pay  and  be 
gone. 

"All  the  better,"  quoth  he,  pulling  out  his  ballad, 
and  stepping  up  on  his  stool.  She  stared.  "  It  is  all 
the  better,  I  say,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  with  a  prelimi- 
nary flourish,  "it  is  all  the  better;"  and  forthwith  Old 
Comical  sang  his  ballad  three  times  over. 

The  landlady,  smelling  out  the  trick,  for  still  as  she 
dunned  Old  Comical  sung,  sent  one  for  the  constable, 
who  was  not  silent  on  the  way,  and  soon  brought  back, 
not  only  the  constable,  but  a  hundred  people  along 

[104] 


Wqt  ifristorp  of  $9r.  3]oljtt  EDecastro 

with  him  as  good  fun  would  have  it,  and  they  sur- 
rounded the  door  of  the  lodging-house,  and  saw  Old 
Comical  mounted  on  his  stool,  with  his  ballad  in  one 
hand  and  his  hat  and  wig  in  the  other. 

Seeing  company  were  come,  Old  Comical  began 
again,  and  the  people,  gathering  the  story  presently, 
called  aloud  for  silence  and  then  for  the  ballad :  there- 
upon Old  Comical  broke  out  with  greater  rapture ;  the 
landlady  scolded,  Old  Comical  sung,  and  the  folks 
laughed,  and  they  made  a  great  noise  altogether. 

Now  it  so  befel  at  this  time  that  the  justice  of  the 
peace  rode  that  way,  and  hearing  a  noise,  and  seeing 
the  constable  with  his  staff  in  the  midst  of  the  people, 
he  was  fain  to  hear  the  news.  One  telling  his  worship 
the  story,  the  justice,  casting  his  eye  upon  Old  Comi- 
cal mounted  on  his  stool,  as  aforesaid,  gave  his  counte- 
nance to  the  riot,  and  fell  a  laughing  with  the  rest :  and 
no  wonder,  for  the  very  sight  of  Old  Comical  would 
make  any  man  laugh.  His  face  was  as  red  as  fire,  upon 
which  half  a  dozen  warts,  as  big  as  red  gooseberries, 
and  much  of  the  same  colour,  had  disposed  themselves 
at  certain  distances  from  one  another,  the  largest  of 
which  sat  upon  the  roof  of  his  nose :  he  had  another 
on  his  chin  hanging  thereat  by  a  slender  stalk,  like  the 
little  fruit  aforesaid.  He  had  another  on  his  forehead, 
which  was  never  seen  but  when  he  laughed,  for  at  that 
time  his  features  were  all  drawn  together  in  the  middle 
of  his  face,  and  the  said  wart  came  down  from  under 
his  wig  in  a  very  odd  manner :  his  nose  was  irregular, 
turned  up  at  the  point,  and  hitched  up  on  one  side,  and 
the  wings  thereof  very  wide.  He  was  so  deeply 
marked  by  the  smallpox  that  his  face  looked  like  a  red 
honey-comb,  so  deeply  pitted  that  a  towel  was  of  little 

[ioS] 


1&\)e  history  of  $&v.  idoljn  SDecastto 

use  to  him ;  and,  being  a  neat  man,  he  used  to  clean 
his  face  with  a  brush,  which  very  much  increased  his 
natural  floridity. 

Old  Comical  was  as  bald  as  a  doll,  and  his  pate  was 
seamed  and  lined  all  over  like  a  map  of  the  roads.  His 
eyes  were  dark  blue,  clear  as  crystal  and  very  fine,  one 
of  which  he  almost  always  kept  shut,  like  one  taking 
aim,  so  he  passed  with  many  for  a  man  of  one  eye,  till 
he  convinced  them  of  their  mistake  by  a  sudden  stare, 
which  had  such  oddity  in  it  as  made  people  laugh.  He 
had  a  very  wide  mouth  and  throat,  so  that  when  he 
laughed  one  might  almost  see  what  he  had  in  his  stom- 
ach. He  had  a  very  fine  set  of  teeth,  which  he 
showed  all  at  one  grin :  the  retractive  muscles  of  the 
upper  lip  gave  him  astonishing  powers  of  grimace,  and 
though  his  mouth  was  very  wide,  and  his  lips  very  pro- 
tuberant, such  was  the  force  of  the  sphincter  oris,  that 
he  could  gather  them  up  into  a  little  wrinkle,  which 
he  usually  did  before  he  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh. 
He  had  five  or  six  different  voices,  which  he  used 
each  as  occasion  served,  and  two  or  three  of  them 
were  such  odd  noises,  that  no  man  could  hear  them 
without  laughing.  He  sung  an  excellent  song,  and 
when  he  pleased  his  voice  was  as  clear  as  a  bell. 
Nature  made  him  on  purpose  for  a  droll,  and  he  had 
such  a  variety  of  humour  that  one  never  grew  tired 
of  him. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  ballad,  which  he  had 
been  made  to  sing  several  times  over,  the  justice  bade 
the  constable  bring  him  out,  and  began  to  remonstrate 
with  him  for  singing  such  a  nasty  song. 

"  You  must  be  come  to  a  sad  pitch  of  impudence  to 
sing  such  a  nasty  song  before  all  these  people,"  said 

[106] 


X£\)t  piston?  of  £0t.  ^o^in  SDtcastro 

the  justice,  "and  I  have  a  mind  to  put  you  into  the 
stocks  for  it." 

"  Sir,"  said  Old  Comical,  "  I  don't  see  what  harm 
there  can  be  in  nastiness  when  it  sets  folks  a  laughing ; 
a  man's  sand  runs  merrily,  an  it  please  your  worship, 
when  we  put  him  into  his  teh-he's  and  ha  ha's — these 
are  precious  moments — put  a  man  into  the  stocks  for 
making  folks  merry ! — see  what  comes  of  doing  the 
world  a  good  turn !  " 

"You  rascal,"  quoth  the  justice,  "you  may  do  the 
world  a  good  turn  without  turning  its  stomach,  and  I 
have  a  mind  to  have  you  whipped ;  your  dirty  song  is 
an  offence  to  decency  and  good  manners." 

"The  world's  stomach  is  not  so  soon  turned,"  quoth 
Old  Comical,  "  it  is  no  such  squeamish  matter,  it  were 
as  good  as  forty  shillings  if  I  could  set  the  world  a 
vomiting  and  bring  the  devil  up,  the  devil  is  in  its 
bowels  and  sets  it  a  hankering  after  forbidden  fruits :  it 
were  a  special  good  emetic,  and  it  like  your  worship, 
that  cast  out  old  Satan!  Has  not  your  worship 
enough  to  do  to  see  the  pots  of  ale  well  filled,  that  the 
bread  be  heavy  enough,  the  cheese  well  weighed  out, 
all  the  bastards  paid  for,  and  that  no  cruel  grocer  cir- 
cumcise a  pot  of  butter  ?  Nastiness  indeed !  let  nasty 
words  alone— they  are  but  as  the  wind  that  blows — and 
look  to  nastier  deeds :  the  nicer  folks'  ears  the  nastier 
their  fingers !  Look  to  dirty  hands,  old  Quorum,  look 
to  dirty  hands — you  must  be  come  to  a  fine  pass  if  a 
beggar's  ballad  be  the  greatest  nuisance  in  your  par- 
ish !  a  man  may  go  a  long  way  before  he  can  sing  a 
song  in  such  another !  " 

Upon  which  Old  Comical  began  to  quaver,  as  if  he 
would  sing  again.  The  justice,  though  he  could  not 
[107J 


(Eljc  totory  of  tyt.  31oljn  SDecaatro 

help  laughing,  threatened  to  put  him  into  the  stocks; 
upon  which  Old  Comical  said : 

"  Put  them  into  the  stocks  that  give  me  encourage- 
ment, they  are  the  most  to  blame:  why  don't  you 
teach  your  people  better  things  than  to  be  pleased  with 
a  poor  ballad-singer  ?  If  they  do  wrong  it  is  your  fault 
who  stand  over  the  hundred  with  the  cat-o'-nine-tails 
in  your  hand — lay  it  on  where  it  is  wanted,  or  be 
stripped  at  the  whipping-post  for  not  doing  your  duty : 
flog  me  the  last,  and  where  will  you  find  a  rod  ?  when 
all  have  enough  let  me  come  in  for  the  scraps.  If  all 
are  whipped  that  should  be,  let  me  sell  whipcord." 

Upon  which  some  present  cried  out  that  Old  Comi- 
cal had  put  the  justice  down,  and  the  people  pressed 
on  all  sides  to  buy  his  ballad,  of  which  he  had  copies 
ready  in  his  pocket :  and  it  had  a  good  sale,  but  the 
more  he  sold  the  more  he  raised  the  price,  for,  being 
asked,  he  said  the  scarcer  things  grew  the  dearer  they 
came,  and  he  sold  his  last  ballad  for  sixpence:  and 
now,  having  sold  all  he  had  save  one,  he  put  his  stool 
under  his  arm,  and  forthwith  put  himself  upon  his 
journey,  when  the  landlady  caught  Old  Comical  by  the 
skirt,  and  told  him  she  would  be  paid  for  his  bed. 

"What  d'ye  charge  for  your  bed  ?  "  quoth  he. 

"A  shilling,"  quoth  she. 

"That's  not  enough,"  quoth  he. 

"  Not  enough  !  "  quoth  she.  "  We'll  say  eighteen- 
pence  then." 

"  Eighteen-pence !  "  quoth  he ;  "  why,  I  should  have 
expected  to  pay  eighteen-pence  if  I  had  slept  on  a 
cow's-hide." 

"Come,"  quoth  she,  "I'll  be  content  with  two  shil- 
lings, pay  and  begone." 

[10S] 


W^t  totorp  of  %t.  3fjotm  sr>fcastio 

"Two  shillings!"  quoth  he,  "what  for  a  night's 
lodging  in  such  a  house  as  your's — why,  I  should  be 
charged  at  least  half-a-crown,  near  London,  if  I  slept 
in  a  fish-kettle :  folks  in  the  country  don't  know  what 
to  ask  for  their  things,  and  that's  the  reason  they  are 
all  so  poor.  I  can  make  due  allowance  for  the  igno- 
rance of  country-people,  but  if  any  had  asked  a  man  of 
my  rank  in  London  less  than  five  shillings  for  my 
night's  lodging,  I  should  have  taken  it  as  an  affront  to 
my  person  and  appurtenances. — A  shilling  for  my  bed ! 
pray,  good  woman,  whom  do  you  take  me  for?  d'ye 
think  I  came  into  your  house  to  be  insulted  ?  I  must 
tell  you  that  I  was  born  at  Cock-a-doodle  in  Northamp- 
tonshire, and  have  a  brother  now  living  who  is  not  only 
a  very  great  man,  but  what  is  more,  is  a  justice  of  the 
peace,  high  sheriff  for  the  county,  and  lord  of  the 
manor  of  Cock-a-doodle !  " 

Upon  which  Old  Comical  shook  his  tail,  and  marched 
off  in  great  wrath,  without  paying  a  farthing. 

The  next  town  he  came  to  he  went  into  a  tailor's 
shop  and  was  measured  for  a  full  suit  of  clothes,  all  of 
the  finest  cloth,  and  gave  orders  that  the  waistcoat 
should  have  a  broad  gold  lace  put  on  it ;  and  then  he 
bespoke  a  new  pair  of  boots  at  a  shoe-maker's,  and  or- 
dered the  men  to  work  immediately.  When  dressed, 
he  walked  into  an  inn  and  bespoke  breakfast,  dinner, 
supper,  and  a  bed.  The  landlord  cast  his  eye  upon  the 
gold  lace  on  Old  Comical's  waistcoat,  and  made  a  low 
bow.     The  next  morning  the  waiter  brought  the  bill. 

"What's  that?"  quoth  Old  Comical. 

"  It  is  your  bill,  sir." 

"How  dare  you  bring  me  a  bill,  you  scoundrel  ? " 
quoth  he. 

[109] 


W$t  piston?  of  Spr,  3ioljn  2Dcca0tio 

"I  beg  your  honour's  pardon,"  quoth  the  waiter,  "it 
was  my  master's  order  that  I  should." 

"  O  ho !  "  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  was  it  so  ? — send 
your  master  to  me  this  moment." 

In  came  the  landlord.  "Was  it  by  your  order  that 
I  have  a  bill  brought  in  ?  "  quoth  he. 

"  I  heard  your  honour  was  going,  and  it  is  usual  to 
be  paid  before  people  leave  my  house." 

"Waiter!  go  this  moment  for  a  constable;  I'll  make 
your  master  know  who  is  at  home,  I'll  warrant  him  !  " 

Upon  this  the  landlord  looked  like  one  at  his  wit's 
ends.  The  moment  the  constable  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  cast  his  eyes  upon  Old  Comical's  waistcoat, 
he  felt  great  awe,  and  humbly  begged  to  know  what 
was  the  matter  ? 

"  Matter !  "  quoth  he,  "  have  you  brought  some  stout 
fellows  along  with  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  an  please  your  honour,  half  a  dozen  are  at  the 
door,  for  we  have  always  a  disturbance  at  the  Bull,  I 
think." 

Now  in  came  the  shoe-maker,  and  in  came  the  tailor, 
each  man  with  his  bill  upon  Old  Comical,  who  began 
to  make  such  a  noise,  that  none  could  be  heard  to 
speak  but  himself;  he  charged  the  landlord,  and  the 
tailor,  and  the  shoe-maker,  with  some  dreadful  crime 
each,  which  he  should  make  appear  in  another  place, 
and  bade  the  constable  do  his  duty,  and  take  care  to 
have  the  rascals  forthcoming.  Upon  which  the  six 
fellows  aforesaid  rushed  in  with  the  constable  at  their 
head,  and  seized  the  landlord,  the  tailor,  and  the  shoe- 
maker, and  away  they  hauled  them,  say  what  they 
could,  and  in  a  terrible  fright  at  their  being  taken  into 
custody.     Old  Comical  marched  in  the  rear,  and  hav- 

[no] 


tEtje  H?i0torp  of  S^r.  3f|olm  2E>ccastro 

ing  seen  all  put  under  lock  and  key,  he  walked  quietly 
out  of  the  town  without  let  or  molestation. 

As  soon  as  he  got  clear  of  the  place,  he  untied  his 
bundle  and  put  on  his  old  clothes,  turned  his  wig, 
which  had  been  well  powdered  (gratis,)  inside  out, 
took  his  stool  under  his  arm  and  his  ballad  in  his  hand, 
and,  being  presently  overtaken  by  some,  who  pursued 
him,  he  mounted  his  stool  and  sung  them  his  ballad. 
Being  much  entertained  therewithal  they  were  fain  to 
hear  the  song  again,  and  when  they  had  done  laughing, 
inquired  if  he  had  seen  a  gentleman  dressed  in  blue 
and  gold  ? 

"This  moment  mounted  his  coach  and  four,"  quoth 
he,  "and  gone  off,  on  a  full  gallop,  to  the  right,"  show- 
ing them  a  road  that  branched  off  on  that  hand :  upon 
this  they  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  were  out  of 
sight  in  a  moment. 

Old  Comical  followed  them  as  the  safest  way,  and 
coming  to  a  gentleman's  house  changed  his  clothes, 
rang  at  the  gate,  and  asked  if  the  master  were  at  home  ? 
The  servant  said  that  he  was  not. 

"What's  become  of  him  ?  "  quoth  Old  Comical. 

"  He  was  sent  for  by  the  landlord  of  the  Bull,  at  the 
next  town,  to  stand  his  friend  in  a  troublesome  matter." 

"  O ! "  quoth  he,  "  that's  the  very  business  I  am 
come  upon;  I  am  an  old  friend  of  your  master's;  lay 
a  cloth  upon  a  table  in  any  room  at  hand,  and  bring  in 
what  cold  meat  you  have,  for  I  can't  wait  while  any  be 
dressed ;  I  have  papers  on  this  and  other  business  for 
your  master,  who  will  return,  perhaps,  in  an  hour." 

He  not  returning,  Old  Comical,  as  soon  as  he  had 
eat  a  good  dinner  and  drank  what  he  pleased,  told  the 
servant  he  could  then  stay  no  longer,  but  ordered  some 
[in] 


&\)t  piston?  of  $$u  31oljn  EDccastro 

paper  and  wrote  a  note  to  the  master  of  the  house  as 
follows : 

Sir:  A  friend  has  called  at  your  house  to  say,  that 
the  oldest  relation  you  have  in  the  world  is  dead :  make 
what  use  of  this  intelligence  you  may  think  most  for 
your  own  interest. 

A  Friend. 

As  soon  as  the  master  of  the  house  returned,  he  re- 
ceived the  note  from  the  servant  who  had  orders  to 
give  it,  and  getting  into  a  post-chaise  with  four  horses, 
set  off  full  speed  the  Lord  knows  whither. 

Old  Comical,  who  lay  by  and  saw  him  go  off,  came 
back  again  into  the  house  and  told  the  servant  he  was 
invited  to  a  bed  there  by  his  master,  whom  he  met  on 
the  road;  and  here  Old  Comical  staid  two  days,  and 
was  very  hospitably  entertained  by  the  lady  of  the 
house,  who  told  him  he  had  done  her  and  her  husband, 
some  how  or  other,  a  very  great  service.  Whereupon 
Old  Comical  waxed  exceeding  merry,  sung  his  ballad 
to  the  lady  and  her  two  daughters,  who  were  young 
ladies  of  great  elegance  and  delicacy,  ate  and  drank  of 
the  best,  and  slept  on  a  bed  that  was  fit  for  a  king. 
The  day  after  Old  Comical  came  into  the  house  he 
sounded  the  lady  upon  her  husband's  return,  and,  feel- 
ing his  ground,  knew  how  long  he  could  stay  in  it. 

On  the  morning  of  his  departure,  he  was  very  much 
pressed  to  give  the  lady  and  her  two  daughters  a  little 
more  of  his  company,  for  they  had  laughed  day  and 
night,  both  asleep  and  awake,  as  long  as  Old  Comical 
had  taken  up  his  abode  with  them,  but  he  made  his  ex- 
cuses and  thanks,  and  took  his  leave;  whereupon  one 
of  the  young  ladies,  who  had  fallen  in  love  with  him, 

[112] 


(Elje  piston?  of  spr.  3Holjn  SDecastro 

wept  bitterly.  Having  walked  a  dozen  miles,  he  met 
a  post-chaise  coming  on  full  speed  with  four  horses,  he 
stopt  it,  and  asked  a  gentleman  who  was  riding  in  it 
if  the  chaise  had  been  taken  at  the  last  town  ?  The 
gentleman  said  he  had  hired  it  at  the  last  town. 
Upon  which  Old  Comical  begged  the  gentleman,  if  he 
had  not  had  the  smallpox,  to  get  out  that  moment,  for 
he  knew  the  chaise,  that  very  chaise,  to  have  conveyed 
a  patient  in  the  last  stage  of  the  distemper  to  an  hospi- 
tal. The  gentleman,  who,  as  it  happened,  had  not  had 
the  smallpox,  jumped  out  of  the  chaise  in  a  moment, 
and  fell  to  spitting  and  blowing  his  nose,  and  thanking 
Old  Comical,  who  helped  him  out  with  the  luggage, 
put  his  own  in  its  place,  and  bidding  the  drivers  make 
the  best  of  their  way  home,  jumped  into  the  chaise  and 
rode  away  like  a  prince,  leaving  the  gentleman  and  his 
portmanteau  to  pursue  their  journey  on  foot.  He  had 
not  gone  far  before  a  butcher  outrode  the  chaise  with 
a  buttock  of  beef  on  his  tray  before  him. 

"  Hoi !  "  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  I  am  going  there,  and 
will  take  your  beef  for  you,  it  will  save  you  a  little 
trouble."  The  butcher,  knowing  the  post-chaise  and 
the  drivers  very  well,  put  his  buttock  in  at  the  window. 
"Drive  on,"  quoth  Old  Comical;  and  away  he  went 
with  a  piece  of  beef  that  weighed  five  stone  on  the 
steelyards. 


[»3] 


CHAPTER    X 

In  Continuation. 

Upon  seeing  a  town  at  some  little  distance,  Old 
Comical  called  to  the  drivers  to  stop,  with  great  pru- 
dence, at  the  corner  of  a  wood,  who,  by  the  familiar 
manner  in  which  he  had  addressed  him,  concluded  that 
he  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  the  gentleman,  whose 
place  he  had  taken  in  the  post-chaise,  and  whom  they 
knew  very  well  to  be  the  master  of  the  house  whereat 
Old  Comical  had  been  so  kindly  received  by  the  lady 
and  her  two  daughters.  They  waited,  therefore,  with 
great  patience  for  the  return  of  Old  Comical  out  of  the 
wood,  conceiving  some  little  necessity  had  called  him 
aside.  The  town  clock  presently  struck,  which  is  a 
thing  that  puts  a  man  as  much  in  mind  of  time  as  any 
other ;  so  Tom  said  to  Dick, 

"  Shall  we  call  to  the  gentleman  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  said  Dick  to  Tom,  "we  had  best  not  dis- 
turb him,  though  he  stays  longer  than  I  expected:" 
their  patience,  however,  getting  upon  the  ebb,  one  dis- 
mounted, and  going  to  the  wood  side,  called  out,  "  Are 
y6u  a  coming,  sir  ?  " 

Upon  getting  no  answer,  Tom  said  to  Dick,  "  Go 
into  the  wood,  the  gentleman  may  have  met  with  an 
accident,  and  be  dead,  for  any  thing  we  know." 

As  soon  as  Dick  had  searched  as  long  as  he  thought 
good,  he  came  out  of  the  wood  just  as  wise  as  he  went 
into  it,  and  looking  into  the  chaise,  said, 

[«4] 


CEtje  foistotp  of  S&u  3floim  Dfcastro 

"  Why,  Tom,  the  gentleman  has  taken  out  his  lug- 
gage ! " 

This  had  not  been  observed ;  for  the  drivers,  suppos- 
ing he  got  out  for  some  little  matter,  did  not  look  be- 
hind them  for  good  manners,  when  Old  Comical  made 
his  escape  into  the  wood ;  and  there  being  a  gate  and 
a  path,  they  supposed  also  that  he  might  be  within  a 
short  walk  of  the  house  which  he  was  engaged  at,  so 
they  e'en  drove  the  chaise  (which  had  been  paid  for)  to 
their  inn  without  giving  themselves  any  further 
trouble. 

As  soon  as  Old  Comical  had  proceeded  into  the 
thickest  part  of  the  wood,  he  left  the  path,  and  getting 
into  a  brake  of  holly  bushes,  changed  his  clothes, 
wisely  judging  that  the  less  show  he  made  at  present 
the  better,  and  that  a  man  dressed  in  a  suit  of  blue 
and  gold  with  a  buttock  of  beef  at  his  back  might 
make  folks  take  more  notice  of  him  than  made  for  his 
interest ;  for  though  his  cloth  was  large,  what  with  his 
clothes,  his  stool,  and  the  beef,  the  meat  he  found 
must  needs  be  seen  at  one  corner  or  another.  So 
having  bestowed  all  matters  with  much  wisdom,  and 
cut  a  strong  stick  out  of  the  wood,  he  thrust  one  end 
of  it  through  a  knot  in  his  handkerchief,  and  away  he 
trudged  with  his  meat  and  his  clothes  on  his  shoulder. 

He  grew  hungry,  which  is  apt  to  come  of  long  fast- 
ing, and  spying  a  gang  of  gypsies  sitting  round  a  great 
pot,  he  made  a  bargain  with  them,  and  got  his  beef 
well  boiled  for  nothing ;  for  as  soon  as  it  was  done,  he 
told  them  a  story  which  frightened  them  out  of  their 
wits,  and  they  ran  away  and  left  their  fire,  and  their 
pot,  and  Old  Comical  to  shift  for  themselves.  Having 
cleared  his  ground,  he  laid  hands  upon  half  a  loaf  of 
["5] 


1&\)t  fytetorp  of  i$r.  3lotjn  SDrcastro 

bread  which,  as  the  gypsies  had  left,  might  be  well 
supposed  to  be  of  no  further  use  to  them,  and  taking  a 
good  slice  of  beef  ate  a  good  dinner. 

He  then  arose,  and  packing  up  the  residue  of  his 
meat,  walked  on,  when  the  path  on  which  he  was, 
forming  a  sort  of  half  circle,  brought  him  into  the  very 
road  which  he  had  lately  quitted.  Finding  this,  he 
made  a  full  stop,  and  wisely  judging  it  to  be  a  little  of 
the  dangerous,  having,  by  some  late  exploits,  made  it 
the  road  to  fame,  he  tacked  about  and  changed  it  for 
another,  being  minded  to  make  the  best  of  his  way  to 
London,  thinking  it  not  unlikely,  no  honesty  standing 
in  the  way,  that  he  might  come  to  riches  and  honours 
in  that  celebrated  city. 

It  now  grew  towards  sunset,  and,  having  lain  in 
lavender  of  late,  he  thought  a  bed  as  good  as  a  dry 
ditch  to  pass  the  night  in :  but  as  he  had  quite  as  lief 
get  a  good  bed  for  nothing  as  pay  for  a  night's  lodg- 
ing, he  stopt  at  the  door  of  a  parsonage-house,  hav- 
ing changed  his  clothes  and  hid  his  wallet  in  a  hedge. 
Upon  the  parson  coming,  to  answer  the  knock  at  his 
door,  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  gold  lace  on  Old  Comical's 
waistcoat,  took  a  step  back  out  of  respect,  as  who 
should  say,  "  I  know  my  distance." 

"  Mr.  Terry,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  having  got  his 
name  from  one  on  the  road,  for  he  seldom  let  a  man 
pass  without  getting  something  out  of  him,  "  I  have, 
here,  a  letter,  which  a  friend  of  mine  requested  me  to 
leave  at  your  house,  if  I  found  you  not  at  home ;  if  I 
found  you  there,  to  deliver  it  safely  into  your  own 
hands;  and,  if  it  required  an  answer,  to  wait  for  the 
same,  and  be  the  bearer  thereof." 

"  My  name,"  quoth  the  parson,  "  certainly  is  Terry, 
[1x6] 


Wyt  history  of  tyt.  2flol)n  EDecaetto 

and  the  letter  (which  Old  Comical,  having  picked  up 
some  intelligence  from  a  clown,  had  written)  is  di- 
rected to  me:"  upon  which  the  parson  opened  it,  and, 
with  no  little  astonishment,  read  as  follows : 

Sir  :  The  late  vicar,  to  whose  living  you  have  been 
lately  presented,  and  whom  you  lately  buried,  with 
what  conscience  must  be  left  to  you,  was  put  into  his 
grave  before  he  was  dead,  and  the  body,  luckily  for 
him,  being  stolen,  it  came  to  its  senses  under  a  sur- 
geon's dissecting  knife  upon  receiving  a  gash  in  the 
abdomen :  the  poor  man,  though  at  present  in  a  very 
weak  state,  is  daily  recovering  at  the  house  of  a  friend, 
and  will,  as  soon  as  well,  claim  his  living  at  your  hands ; 
now  as  this  affair  will  undergo  a  strict  investigation,  as 
he  was  supposed  to  die  in  your  house,  and  you  had 
been  promised  the  next  presentation,  I  have  made  a 
friend  the  bearer  of  this  letter,  who,  for  some  reasons, 
must  withhold  my  name,  in  order  to  give  you  an  oppor- 
tunity to  collect  matter  for  your  defence  in  this  extraor- 
dinary case ;  as  the  vicar  will  swear  that  he  heard  you 
say,  after  he  was  nailed  down,  though  totally  deprived 
of  speech  and  motion,  that  if  he  were  not  quite  dead  it 
would  not  be  long  before  he  were,  and  that  was  all 
one,  as  he  was  given  over  by  his  physicians,  and  so  he 
was  handed  into  his  grave.  Now,  sir,  the  bearer  of 
this  letter,  being  himself  the  very  surgeon  who  gave 
the  body  the  slash  in  the  belly,  by  way  of  preface  to 
his  lecture  in  anatomy,  and  under  whose  hands  the 
corpse  again  became  a  vicar,  will  save  me  any  further 
trouble,  and  satisfy  you  in  all  matters  on  which  you 
please  to  question  him. 

I  am,  sir,  your 

Anonymous  Friend. 

This  dreadful  letter,  as  well  it  might,  turned  the 
poor  parson  into  stone.  Recovering,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on   Old   Comical,  and   asked   him   if  all  were  true? 


&\)t  fyi&toty  of  9&t.  3fiotjn  2Decastro 

Upon  which  he  said  he  had  a  long  story  to  tell,  and 
begged  to  sit  down.  The  parson  hoped  his  amazement 
might  excuse  his  incivility  in  keeping  a  gentleman  of 
his  appearance  standing  at  the  door,  very  courteously 
showed  him  into  a  room  and  offered  him  a  chair.  Old 
Comical  began  a  story  which  lasted  three  hours  and 
twenty  minutes,  and  great  part  thereof  was  told  in  the 
dark,  for  night  fell  an  hour  at  least  before  the  story 
was  ended,  and  so  fixed  was  the  parson's  attention, 
that,  until  one  called  him  to  supper,  he  scarcely  knew 
where  he  was. 

As  they  walked  into  the  supper-room,  "All  this," 
quoth  the  parson,  "  is  very  strange  and  very  shocking ; 
but,  sir,  I  have  a  great  many  questions  to  put  upon 
this  dreadful  matter,  and  must  beg  for  your  stay  here 
until  I  am  satisfied  in  all  points." 

"  I  will  sup  with  you,  and  take  a  bed,  if  you  please," 
quoth  Old  Comical — "  Nay,  I  am  determined  to  eat, 
drink,  and  sleep  with  you  as  long  as  you  have  a  ques- 
tion to  ask."  So  the  parson,  his  wife,  and  Old  Comical 
sat  down  to  a  couple  of  boiled  fowls  and  oyster  sauce. 

The  parson's  wife,  who  had  catched  the  lucky  mo- 
ment to  hear  the  letter  read  by  her  husband,  felt  as  if 
she  should  burst  before  she  could  get  to  the  nearest 
house  in  the  village  to  tell  the  news,  and  the  first  to 
hear  it  was  the  late  vicar's  wife,  who  had  just  married 
her  footman.  This  lady,  upon  hearing  that  her  former 
husband  was  come  to  life  again,  fell  into  a  fit  to  the  no 
small  disturbance  of  her  family. 

Betty  Elbowgrease,  maid-servant  in  the  house,  who 

had  as  good  a  knack  at  listening  as  the  parson's  wife 

for  her  heart,  and  quite  as  eager  to  tell  any  news,  ran 

out  into  the  village  and  told  the  story  to  all  she  met, 

[118] 


tEtje  natatory  of  spr,  31otm  Drcastro 

with  additions.  And  away  went  the  news,  aye,  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  and  put  the  whole  neighbourhood 
into  a  flux  from  one  end  to  the  other !  Mrs.  Kicksey 
told  it  to  Mrs.  Wicksey,  and  Mrs.  Wicksey  told  it  to 
Mrs.  Cock,  and  Mrs.  Cock  told  it  to  Mrs.  Jimcrack, 
and  Mrs.  Jimcrack  told  it  to  Mrs.  Jiggumbob,  and  Mrs. 
Jiggumbob  told  it  to  Mrs.  Shufflebottom,  and  Mrs. 
Shufflebottom  told  it  to  Mrs.  Blueknuckle,  and  Mrs. 
Blueknuckle  told  it  to  Mrs.  Devilsgizzard  and  her 
seven  daughters,  and  every  one  added  something  to 
the  story.  The  old  women  ran  into  knots  in  the 
street,  and  took  a  great  deal  of  snuff  upon  it  the  next 
morning.  The  baker  carried  the  story  out  with  his 
bread,  and  the  butcher  carried  it  out  with  his  meat,  the 
brewer  with  his  beer,  and  the  barber  with  his  soap  and 
razors,  and  cut  a  great  slice  out  of  the  squire's  chin  in 
the  heat  of  the  story.  Colds,  fevers  and  agues,  were 
caught  by  many,  who  ran  out  of  their  houses  without 
their  hats,  cloaks,  bonnets  and  great  coats,  in  the  rain, 
to  spread  the  news..  Mrs.  Qualm  came  at  seven 
months,  Mrs.  Scramblebottom  miscarried  of  twins, 
Mrs.  Thimbletail  came  with  a  still-born  child,  and  Mrs. 
Crincumcrankum  was  brought  to  bed  in  her  larder,  all 
alarmed  at  the  story ! 

Old  Comical  ate  a  hearty  supper  and  slept  well  in 
the  best  bed  at  the  vicarage.  He  arose  the  next  morn- 
ing as  blithe  as  a  lark  and  ate  fifteen  muffins  and  drank 
one-and-twenty  dishes  of  tea  for  his  breakfast. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  parson,  "  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  laid 
to  my  charge  as  the  babe  unborn,  and  had  sooner  been 
intombed  myself  than  buried  any  man  alive.  The  late 
vicar,  who  was  my  uncle,  certainly  died  in  my  house, 
in  which  every  attention  was  shown  and  every  care 

[n9] 


W$t  Hpistorp  of  tyt.  3]otm  SDecaatro 

taken  of  him  that  could  be,  and  I  am  sure,  for  my  own 
particular,"  quoth  the  parson,  with  tears,  "I  loved  him 
as  if  he  had  been  my  father.  He  was  the  best  friend  I 
ever  had  in  the  world,  and  I  had  sooner  died  myself 
than  have  lost  one  whom  I  had  so  much  regard  for." 

Old  Comical,  who  was  as  silent  at  breakfast  as  he 
had  been  at  supper,  took  care  that  no  idle  conversation 
should  engage  him  at  times  of  such  importance,  wisely 
judging  that  when  his  belly  was  full,  his  mouth  would 
be  empty,  and  might  talk  when  it  had  nothing  better 
to  do. 

"  Mr.  Terry,"  said  he,  when  he  had  eat  till  he  was 
tired,  "I  am  your  very  humble  servant  and  all  that : 
which  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  I  should  be  happy  to 
serve  you  in  any  matter  which  might  tend  to  clear  up 
your  character  in  this  affair :  but  I  would  have  you  to 
understand  that  I  am  not  the  man  who  bought  your 
uncle's  body,  though  I  confess  I  gave  him  the  afore- 
said cut  in  the  belly :  it  was  the  gentleman  who  wrote 
the  letter  that  purchased  the  corpse,  and  falling  ill, 
begged  it  of  me  as  a  friend,  to  read  a  few  lectures  for 
him  during  his  indisposition,  that  his  students  in  an- 
atomy might  feel  no  loss  in  his  absence." 

At  that  moment,  casting  his  eye  into  the  church- 
yard, for  the  vicarage-house  stood  in  one  corner  of  it, 
he  saw  some  with  spades  and  pickaxes  come  into  it, 
and,  making  a  stand  close  by  a  handsome  tombstone, 
despatched  one,  who  came  out  to  be  the  clerk  of  the 
parish,  to  the  parsonage-house.  Old  Comical,  who 
always  had  his  wits  about  him,  suspected  the  truth, 
that  the  story  had  got  into  the  wind,  and  folks  were 
come  to  open  the  grave.  The  clerk  now  came  in  and 
told  the  parson  that  he  was  come  by  the  squire's  or- 
[120] 


OTtje  tytetorE  of  09r.  3|oljn  HDecastro 

ders  to  get  permission  to  break  open  Dr.  Crambelly's 
tomb,  as  a  report  prevailed  that  the  body  had  been 
stolen,  and  the  squire  being  a  near  relation,  begged  the 
grave  might  be  examined  immediately  both  to  satisfy 
himself  and  the  neighbourhood. 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  before  the  squire 
himself  came  in,  and  swore  terribly  to  what  he  would 
do  if  the  author  of  the  lie,  should  it  so  fall  out,  could 
be  come  at.  The  parson  put  Old  Comical' s  letter  into 
the  squire's  hand,  who  read  it  and  raved  like  a  mad- 
man. Others  now  flocked  to  the  parson's  house,  and 
there  were  as  many  as  a  church  could  hold  in  five 
minutes,  aye,  and  there  was  a  great  noise;  but  Old 
Comical's  voice  drowned  all  the  rest,  who  exclaimed, 
that  the  grave  had  best  be  examined  to  satisfy  the 
people. 

The  church-yard  by  this  time  was  as  full  as  if  it  were 
the  last  Sunday  on  earth,  and  Old  Comical  sallied  forth 
amongst  the  rest  to  examine  Dr.  Crambelly's  grave : 
and  to  work  they  fell,  some  with  pickaxes,  and  some 
with  spades,  and  soon  routed  the  poor  doctor  out  of 
his  sepulchre.  It  hath  been  wisely  observed  that  when 
people's  attention  is  deeply  engaged  in  any  matter,  a 
man  may  steal  any  thing.  Old  Comical  was  aware  of 
this,  and  stole  a  march ;  and  in  good  time,  for  the  en- 
raged squire  unkenneled  a  pack  with  the  constable  in 
place  of  huntsman,  and  they  beat  seven  parishes  to 
find  Old  Comical,  but  all  in  vain :  for  he  went  directly 
to  the  hedge  where  he  had  left  his  wallet,  and  getting 
into  a  high  road  mounted  the  first  stage-coach,  and 
scoured  away  like  dust  before  the  wind. 

"  How  far  are  you  going  ? "  quoth  the  coachman. 

"As  far  as  you  can  drive  me,"  quoth  Old  Comical: 

[MI] 


W$t  piston?  of  spr.  31oljn  mctmto 

and  sometimes  singing,  sometimes  telling  stories,  and 
sometimes  making  faces,  Old  Comical  raised  a  mon- 
strous uproar  upon  the  roof  of  the  coach. 

Coming  to  the  inn  at  night  whereat  the  coach  put 
up,  Old  Comical  ordered  a  supper  and  a  bed,  and  giv- 
ing directions  for  a  hot  pot  of  rambooze,  "  Landlord," 
said  he,  "pay  the  coachman  his  fare,  and  give  the  poor 
fellow  half-a-crown  for  himself;"  whereupon  he  unbut- 
toned his  coat,  and  showed  his  gold  laced  waistcoat, 
which  had  already  done  great  execution. 

It  was  concluded  that  a  man  who  had  so  much  gold 
upon  his  clothes  must  needs  have  a  great  deal  more  in 
his  pocket,  which,  like  redundance  of  humours,  when 
there  are  more  than  the  body  can  conceal,  break  out 
upon  the  surface:  so  the  landlord  went  into  the 
kitchen,  talked  about  Old  Comical's  gold,  and  paid  the 
coachman  his  fare,  and  rattling  down  a  half-crown 
piece  upon  the  dresser, 

"  You  see  what  noble  guests  I  entertain,  coachman," 
quoth  the  landlord,  "  that's  for  yourself ! " 

At  this  inn,  which  was  a  very  good  one,  Old  Comi- 
cal staid  a  fortnight,  ate,  drank,  and  slept  like  a  man 
in  good  health ;  and  attracted  so  many  by  his  oddities, 
that  the  landlord  would  have  been  glad  to  have  hung 
Old  Comical  up  for  his  sign,  for  he  never  drew  so 
much  liquor  in  his  life;  but  he  soon  found  out  that 
hanging  was  too  good  for  him,  for  he  took  a  walk  one 
day  before  he  paid  his  bill. 

Old  Comical  now  lay  under  manifold  obligations  to 
gentlemen  in  sundry  parts  of  Great  Britain,  and  began 
to  be  overwhelmed  with  gratitude  for  so  many  favours 
and  kindnesses,  but,  however  it  fell  out,  he  was  in  no 
great  hurry  to  return  to  any  to  thank  them  for  their 

[122] 


{Efjc  linstorp  of  spr.  31otm  2Drca0tro 

good  things.  When  he  left  his  brother's  house  in 
Northamptonshire  his  drift  lay  southward,  and  he  had 
in  the  course  of  about  a  year  and  a  half  very  much 
amused  almost  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  south  and 
southwestern  parts  of  the  island.  He  began  now  to 
be  much  talked  of,  and  much  sought  after,  in  the 
county  of  Dorset  especially,  where  his  fame  had  risen 
like  the  sun  upon  the  earth.  Like  that  great  lumi- 
nary, Old  Comical  had  drawn  a  great  deal  out  of  it 
without  paying  anything  for  it :  but  here  the  compari- 
son breaks,  for  instead  of  holding  his  own,  and  shining 
on  with  undiminished  brightness,  Old  Comical  began 
to  grow  tarnished,  and  had  lost  three  parts  out  of  four 
of  the  gold  lace  from  his  waistcoat,  and  as  much  re- 
spect along  with  it;  so  that  the  very  garment  that 
used  to  carry  him  with  such  honours  into  an  inn,  could 
scarcely,  in  such  its  decayed  state,  get  him  a  piece  of 
a  bench  at  an  alehouse.  In  a  little  time  he  grew  as 
ragged  as  any  beggar,  and,  if  to  be  a  less  rogue  is  to 
be  more  honest,  he  was  not  now  so  great  a  rogue  as 
when  he  wore  better  clothes,  so  rags  in  some  sort 
brought  honesty  along  with  them,  for  there  never  was 
a  great  rogue  without  a  fine  coat  upon  his  back. 

He  now  made  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  south, 
and  the  more  ragged  he  grew  the  more  he  was  dis- 
guised, for  it  was  a  man  in  a  gold  laced  waistcoat  that 
robbed  the  people,  and  rags  had  no  concern  in  the 
matter.  We  must  now  make  the  best  of  our  way  with 
him  to  Oaken  Grove  and  leave  him  to  recite  at  some 
future  time  many  a  piece  of  fun,  and  many  a  knavish 
trick,  which  we  have  not  leisure  at  present  to  enumer- 
ate, and  which  will  come  in,  perhaps,  with  more  dignity 
in  another  place. 

[123] 


Wi)t  5?ifiton>  of  tyi.  31otm  SDfcastro 

As  people  in  decay  run  the  farthest  from  those 
places  wherein  they  shone  the  most  in  their  better 
days,  so  Old  Comical  ran  out  of  the  south  directly  into 
the  north,  and  after  begging,  ballad-singing,  and  steal- 
ing by  turns  he  at  length  came  to  the  ferry  at  Oaken 
Grove :  and  dangling  the  horn  in  his  hands  which  hung 
on  the  post,  not  knowing  well  what  to  make  of  it,  put 
it  to  his  mouth  at  last,  and  blew  it  with  all  his  might. 
The  ferryman  unchained  his  boat  at  the  accustomed 
signal,  and  when  he  arrived  at  the  opposite  shore, 
called  Old  Comical  an  impudent  scoundrel,  and  asked 
who  was  to  wait  on  him  ?  Old  Comical  humbly 
begged  pardon,  and  a  penny,  of  the  ferryman,  and  said, 
had  he  known  the  uses  of  the  horn,  he  had  sooner 
heard  the  devil  blow  it  than  he.  The  ferryman,  struck 
with  the  oddity  of  Old  Comical,  gave  him  a  penny,  and 
forgave  him  his  trouble,  and  Old  Comical  offering  some 
ballads  to  sale  the  ferryman  bought  sixpennyworth  of 
Old  Comical's  poetry.  Upon  which,  "  Is  there  any 
charity,"  quoth  he,  "  to  be  found  on  the  other  side  of 
the  water?"  The  ferryman,  who  loved  fun  and  drol- 
lery, upon  this  took  Old  Comical  into  his  boat  and 
landed  him  on  the  opposite  shore ;  telling  him  that  no- 
body lived  in  the  old  castle,  but  he  would  perhaps  get 
a  platter  of  broken  meat  at  Mr.  Decastro's,  describing 
a  farm-house  situated  on  the  left  hand  of  it.  Upon 
hearing  the  name  of  Decastro,  Old  Comical  called  to 
mind  his  old  friend  and  fellow-student  at  the  Univer- 
sity in  Germany,  but  not  much  expecting  to  find  him 
there,  he  mounted  his  stool  at  the  door,  and  began  to 
sing. 

Old  Crab,  who  was  then  at  dinner  with  his  wife  in 
his  little  parlour,  hearing  Old  Comical's  voice,  turned 

[i*4] 


f£bc  inttorp  of  2pr.  3f|otm  SDrcastro 

his  head,  for  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the  window,  and 
seeing  a  beggar  upon  a  stool,  began  to  scold  his  wife 
for  encouraging  a  pack  of  ragged  rascals  at  the  farm. 

"I  should  be  very  sorry,"  quoth  she,  "to  do  any 
thing  to  displease  you,"  when  a  trill  from  Old  Comical 
threw  her  into  convulsions. 

It  was  quite  impossible  to  hear  Old  Comical  sing  two 
verses  without  laughing,  and  though  Old  Crab  held  it 
out  much  longer  than  his  wife,  as  soon  as  Old  Comical 
came  to  a  fine  shake,  Old  Crab  burst  out  into  a  loud 
peal;  and  Old  Comical,  who  saw  how  matters  were, 
followed  him  up  with  another  quaver,  when  Old  Crab 
was  fain  to  roar  out,  "  This  is  a  pleasant  scoundrel ! " 

"  Come,"  said  Mrs.  B.  Decastro,  "  I  think  he  deserves 
some  broken  victuals,"  and  knowing  the  usual  cast  of 
Old  Crab's  countenance  when  he  would  assent  to  a 
thing,  she  poured  some  broken  victuals  and  sixpence, 
by  way  of  sauce  to  them,  into  Old  Comical's  wallet ; 
whereupon  poor  Old  Comical,  who  had  not  eat  a  mor- 
sel that  day,  sat  down  upon  a  stone  at  the  door,  and  it 
did  Old  Crab's  heart  good,  and  his  wife's  too,  to  see 
how  heartily  he  ate  his  breakfast.  Old  Crab  was  now 
going  forth  to  his  business  on  his  farm,  when  staring 
at  Old  Comical  as  he  sat  at  meat,  knew  his  face  in  an 
instant,  for  it  was  not  very  possible  for  any  who  had 
once  seen  Old  Comical's  countenance  ever  to  forget 
it.  Old  Comical  as  soon  discovered  the  face  of  his  old 
fellow-student.  Each  stared  at  the  other  like  a  post, 
and  for  a  very  good  reason  because  a  post  has  no  eyes. 

"What,  Mathers!"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "where  the 
plague  dost  thou  come  from  ?  " 

"  Hold  hard,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "and  I'll  tell  you." 

He  then  gave  a  brief  account  of  himself,  and  his 
["5] 


&tie  fyistoty  of  tyt.  3]ot)n  ZDeeafitro 

wretched  situation,  which  did  not  fail  to  make  an  im- 
pression upon  such  a  heart  as  Old  Crab's,  who  took 
Old  Comical  by  the  collar  and  hauled  him  into  his 
house  in  such  a  rough  manner  that  if  it  had  happened 
a  little  more  to  the  southward  Old  Comical  would  not 
have  been  much  at  a  loss  to  guess  at  some  reason  for 
it.  As  soon  as  Old  Crab  had  brought  him  into  a  little 
chamber  he  showed  him  some  old  clothes,  and  bade 
him  dress  himself  as  well  as  he  could,  out  of  the  best 
he  could  find,  and  stay  till  he  returned  in  the  evening. 
When  Old  Crab  came  home  at  night,  he  found  Old 
Comical  fast  asleep  by  his  kitchen  fire,  with  his  head 
upon  his  stool  and  a  great  volume  of  ballads  for  his 
pillow.  It  now  only  remains  to  be  said  in  this  place, 
that  ever  since  that  day  Old  Comical  has  lived  with 
Old  Crab,  who,  after  a  due  course  of  instruction,  made 
him  his  bailiff,  and  a  bailiff  of  greater  honesty  and  in- 
tegrity never  existed  than  Old  Comical,  as  what  re- 
mains to  be  said  of  him  will  show. 


[126] 


CHAPTER   XI 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro's  Folly,  and  a  Masquerade. 

What  !  no  love  yet  ?  I  haven't  patience !  ten  long 
chapters  and  not  so  much  as  one  tender  kiss !  a  kiss ! 
there  has  not  been  so  much  as  the  breath  squeezed  out 
of  a  woman's  body.  Fair  reader,  what  can  we  do  for 
you  ?  Julia  and  Genevieve  are  really  too  young  to  be 
kissed  yet,  and  Lady  Charlotte  Orby,  the  third  pretty 
woman  hinted  at  a  few  pages  since,  will  not  come  into 
our  history  for  some  time,  and  she  is  only  fourteen 
years  old  at  this  moment,  and  would  scarce  know  what 
to  do  with  a  kiss  if  she  got  one — all  we  can  promise  is 
that  we  will  get  over  three  or  four  years  as  fast  as  our 
history  will  permit  us,  and  then  you  shall  read  with 
pleasure  how  "  George  caught  Julia  round  her  waist 
and  kissed  her;"  or,  "Acerbus  squeezed  Genevieve 
till  she  hiccup'd;"  or,  "Harry  hugged  Charlotte  till 
her  eyes  watered,"  and  every  page  shall  be  all  on  fire 
with  love:  but  just  at  present,  fair  reader,  little  Cupid 
has  nothing  to  shoot  at,  so  he  may  lie  by  and  get  his 
arrows  sharpened  at  the  grindstone  and  steal  a  new 
bow. 

But,  nota  bene,  pretty  maid,  if  you  happen  to  have  a 
lover  of  your  own,  a  plain  sensible  honest  man,  not  as 
handsome  as  Apollo,  not  as  ugly  as  Thersites,  not  so 
bright  a  wit  as  Aristophanes,  nor  quite  such  a  heavy 
log  as  Maevius,  not  so  smart  a  beau  as  the  son  of  Cli- 
nias,  nor  such  a  sloven  as  Poodapoop  the  Hottentot, 

[»7] 


^tje  J?istori?  of  apr.  3Mn  Decastro 

but  a  good  household  sort  of  a  gentleman,  one,  if  you 
know  how  to  choose,  that  will  make  you  a  good  hus- 
band ;  what  if  we  should  put  your  mouth  out  of  taste 
for  him,  when  we  bring  in  such  sweetmeats  as  George 
Grove,  Acerbus  Decastro,  or  Harry  Lamsbroke,  who 
will  touch  your  palate  with  every  thing  that  is  exquis- 
ite in  human  nature  ?  Now  as  a  full  and  true  account 
will  be  given  of  these  three  fine  fellows,  as  it  becometh 
honest  and  faithful  historians  to  do,  we  will  promise 
you,  dear  lady,  when  any  of  these  dangerous  folks  are 
like  to  come  upon  the  stage,  to  give  you  due  and  pru- 
dent notice  thereof  in  the  titles  to  the  chapters,  to  put 
you  upon  your  guard,  when  you  may  either  read,  or 
skip,  the  said  chapters,  as  you  may  see  fit,  lest  one  of 
these  young  rascals  should  pop  upon  you  on  a  sudden 
at  some  odd  corner,  and  do  you  any  mischief. 

What  in  the  world  could  ever  bring  people  to  im- 
agine that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  had  retired  into  the 
north  and  kept  a  pork  and  butter  shop  in  a  little  vil- 
lage in  Cumberland  ?  But  this  was  the  only  story  that 
was  believed  after  fifty  others  had  been  told  and  disre- 
garded: it  was  said  with  confidence,  propagated  with 
diligence,  and  believed  with  assurance  from  the  centre 
to  the  circumference  of  Mr.  Decastro's  circle  of  ac- 
quaintance. The  following  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Budemere  to  Old  Crab  will  throw  more  light  upon  this 
matter. 

TO    THE    REV.    BARTHOLOMEW    DECASTRO. 

My  dear  Sir  and  Brother  :  I  am  not  at  all  afraid 
of  being  thought  to  flatter  you  when  I  say,  that  if  there 
is  such  a  thing  as  an  honest  man  in  England,  you  are 
one ;  for  to  flatter  a  man  is,  as  I  take  it,  to  tell  a  lie  in 

[128] 


(Etic  fttstorp  of  spr.  Joljn  Dccastro 

his  praise,  but  I  beg  leave  to  appeal  to  your  conscience 
for  the  truth  of  what  I  say,  and,  if  that  comes  over,  I 
shall  speak  boldly,  even  if  your  praise  lie  in  my  way  to 
speaking  the  truth :  no  soul  on  earth  ever  wanted  the 
help  of  an  honest  man  more  than  I  do,  and  one,  like 
you,  who  knows  business. 

I  have  been  so  much  plundered  of  late  years  by 
stewards,  bailiffs,  head  fellows,  and  other  cormorants 
of  the  like  feather,  that  I  am  concerned  to  say  my 
affairs  are  sick  to  death  of  them,  and  if  some  medicine 
is  not  speedily  brought  to  the  malady,  I  must  either 
turn  steward,  and  plunder  others,  or  commence  shop- 
keeper, and  score  against  the  world  in  my  turn,  as  soon 
as  my  own  score  is  paid ;  which,  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you 
in  confidence,  will  I  fear  be  no  easy  matter :  but  I  have 
no  head  for  business,  nor  ever  had,  and  when  I  talk  to 
my  steward,  the  first  thing  he  does  is  to  puzzle  me,  as 
if  he  knew  the  readiest  way  to  rid  his  hands  of  me,  for 
I  always  send  him  away  when  I  do  not  understand  him. 
I  sent  for  him  this  morning  to  audit  an  account  of 
some  timber,  which  I  cut  down  to  beautify  the  western 
side  of  my  park,  and  admit  a  fine  prospect — but  in 
truth  to  pay  a  bill — he  brought  me  the  lengths  and 
girths  of  the  trees  by  my  order — a  hint  I  took  from 
you — the  fellow  had  the  cunning  to  put  me  upon  work- 
ing the  sum  of  one  of  the  sticks,  just  as  if  he  knew 
my  ignorance,  and  I  sent  him  about  his  business,  tell- 
ing him,  that  he  was  paid  to  save  me  that  trouble. 
You  see,  my  dear  brother,  how  I  may  be  cheated  here, 
and  know  nothing  about  the  matter,  and  thus  it  is  in 
many  other  things,  for  want  of  a  competent  knowledge 
of  business.  Enclosed  I  have  sent  you  the  account  of 
this  timber,  which  is  set  down  at  ten  thousand  pounds 
worth,  with  the  girths  and  lengths  of  all  the  trees ;  you 
will  much  oblige  me  by  looking  it  over  for  me.  To 
come  at  once  to  the  point — my  affairs  are  embroiled, 
and  I  very  much  want  your  help ;  I  am  not  so  crippled 
as  poor  Decastro,  but  am  a  very  lame  dog  notwith- 
standing :  my  late  election  played  the  devil  with  me,  a 

9  [129] 


®i)t  tyi&toty  of  $0t.  31otjn  soerastro 


man  had  better  have  set  upon  a  three-legged  ^tool  all 
his  days,  than  bought  his  seat  in  a  certain  great  house 
at  the  price  it  cost  me. 

We  are  coming  this  summer  to  visit  the  lakes,  and 
see  other  curiosities  in  your  part  of  the  world;  Sir 
Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair,  and  Mrs.  Perrimont,  will  be 
of  our  party,  pray  get  us  some  apartments  in  the  next 
village  to  you  for  a  few  days,  while  I  consult  you  upon 
my  matters.  My  situation  is  unknown  to  the  world, 
and  I  would  keep  it  so ;  for  none,  except  a  few  men  of 
your  turn,  pay  any  respect  to  a  person  in  distress.  My 
late  accession  to  new  honours  may  have  added  a  little 
to  my  name,  but  it  has  taken  a  great  deal  from  my 
pocket ;  an  addition  to  my  title  has  added  to  my  ex- 
penses, indeed,  but  not  to  my  income.  It  is  very  much 
my  wish,  my  dear  brother,  to  make  a  friend  of  you,  but 
I  am  sorry  to  see  that  you  take  pains  to  avoid  me :  the 
man  that  is  the  most  wanted  in  a  house  like  mine  is 
sure  to  be  the  greatest  stranger  in  it.  I  am  my-lorded, 
and  my-lorded,  and  my-lorded  over  by  a  pack  of  cheats, 
sycophants,  parasites  and  plunderers,  many  of  whom 
cannot  even  rob  me  without  being  paid  for  their 
trouble.  I  will  not  scruple  to  say,  that  in  my  present 
situation  I  am  really  an  object  of  your  charity,  and  beg 
of  you,  not  only  by  our  relationship,  but  in  the  name 
of  pity  and  compassion,  that  you  would  look  into  my 
affairs  and  tell  me  what  ground  I  have  left  to  stand 
upon. 

Colonel  Barret,  who  is  come  to  be  with  us  for  a  few 
days,  has  just  told  us  a  sad  story  of  poor  Decastro,  and 
given  but  too  good  authority  for  the  truth  of  it :  the 
substance  of  which  is,  that  when  all  his  debts  were 
paid  he  had  nothing  left  to  live  upon,  that  you,  out  of 
charity,  and  at  your  own  expense,  have  set  him  up  in 
a  little  shop  in  some  village  near  you,  and  that  he  and 
his  wife  get  their  bread  by  retailing  snuff,  tobacco, 
pork,  and  butter  to  the  neighbourhood.  Many  stories 
have  been  told,  but  as  none  have  come  upon  such  good 
evidence  as  the  above,  we  have  opened  a  subscription 


&tyt  $?tstorp  of  Sj5r«  3fiolm  SDecastro 


for  him,  and  names  are  already  put  to  the  amount  of 
three  thousand  pounds,  which  may  be  sunk  in  an  an- 
nuity sufficient  to  supersede  the  necessity  of  our  poor 
brother's  keeping  a  dirty  shop.  Present  our  kind  re- 
membrances to  him  and  his  lady,  and  tell  him  we  will 
call  and  ask  him  how  he  does  when  we  come  into  your 
neighbourhood. 


OLD  CRAB  S  ANSWER  TO  THE  EARL  OF  BUDEMERE  S 
LETTER. 

Kinsman  :  I  have  long  expected  to  see  you  in  the 
brambles,  and  your  coat  is  like  to  get  pretty  well 
scratched,  if  you  come  off  with  a  bit  of  cloth  upon  your 
back,  as  appears  by  your  own  story.  Your  timber  is 
ill  sold  and  cast  up  two  thousand  pounds  too  little  into 
the  bargain,  taking  your  steward's  own  account  of  it — 
how  it  hath  been  measured  is  another  matter — but  I 
have  had  trouble  enough  with  John's  affairs — will  the 
devil  never  leave  the  family  ?  What  the  plague  do  you 
and  your  gang  come  staring  here  after  ?  I  have  sent 
your  letter  to  John,  he  may  look  for  lodgings,  I  shall 
not  trouble  myself  about  such  an  idle  crew ;  yawning 
and  gaping  about  the  country,  as  if  ye  had  more  money 
than  a  pack  of  fools  knew  what  to  do  with. 

If  you  have  got  any  thing  to  say  to  me,  why  don't 
you  get  into  a  stage-coach  and  come  by  yourself  ?  I 
told  you  two  years  ago,  when  I  met  you  in  Bond-street, 
those  two  scoundrels,  your  stewards,  were  playing  the 
devil  with  you,  one  within  doors  and  the  other  without ; 
but  you  were  such  an  ass  and  a  fool  as  to  take  no  heed 
to  what  I  said. — Why  didn't  you  let  that  election  alone  ? 
What  the  devil  could  you  have  to  do  in  it  that  had  no 
money  to  squander  away  ?  Must  you  ruin  yourself  to 
bring  such  precious  talents  as  yours,  forsooth,  to  the 
service  of  the  nation  ?  Who  could  have  put  it  into 
your  stupid  brains,  that  you,  who  can't  take  care  of 
your  own  matters,  should  be  a  fit  person  to  take  care 
of  the  public  ?     Why  the  plague  did  not  you  set  mat- 

[131] 


1&\)t  distort?  of  $$t.  3loljn  H>ecafiti*o 

ters  to  rights  in  your  own  house  before  you  came 
to  set  matters  to  rights  in  the  House  of  Commons  ? 
What  a  sum  this  business  cost  you  to  get  into  it, 
when,  if  you  had  had  a  little  patience,  you  might  have 
got  into  the  other  house  for  nothing!  Were  you  in 
such  a  hurry  to  get  into  Parliament  to  teach  folks 
economy?  To  show  people  how  to  make  things  go 
the  farthest  by  going  the  nearest  way?  A  pretty 
maggot  you  were  like  to  make  in  the  cheese,  if  we  set 
ourselves,  with  a  vengeance,  to  eat  one  another  out  of 
house  and  home!  You  are  a  worse  profligate  than 
John;  he  never  spent  seventy  thousand  pounds  at  a 
cast  in  his  life — your  election  cost  you  that,  or  they 
lied  that  told  me  the  story. 

I  avoid  you !  can  you  blame  a  man  for  getting  out  of 
the  way  of  a  nuisance  ?  a  man  that  lives  the  life  that 
you  live  is  worse  than  a  nuisance.  I  don't  fall  out 
with  you  because  you  are  "  My  Lord  ;"  a  man  may  be 
a  good  man  under  any  name — I  look  not  to  the  name, 
but  to  the  man — the  greater  a  man's  name  is  the  bet- 
ter if  he  be  a  good  man,  for  great  folks  are  the  most 
stared  at,  are  seen  by  the  most  people,  and  influence 
more  by  their  example.  A  great  man  is  a  great  tor- 
rent that  sweeps  much  along  with  him,  and  if  he  be 
running  on  to  destruction  he  takes  half  a  world  on  his 
way  to  it.  Folks  stick  to  a  great  man  like  vermin,  and 
if  he  falls,  down  comes  he  and  all  his  vermin  together. 
If  a  little  man  makes  a  false  step  it  concerns  few  but 
himself;  but  when  a  great  man  stumbles,  ten  thousand 
must  needs  stumble  with  him  to  be  in  the  fashion.  A 
great  man  is  the  sun  of  a  system ;  let  him  remember 
that  it  is  his  business  to  shine  and  to  enlighten  those 
beneath  him.  But  it  is  of  no  use  to  talk  to  such  a  one 
as  you,  you  will  take  your  own  way  if  you  break  your 
neck  in  it,  and,  if  you  must  needs  do  mischief,  the 
sooner  the  better. 

What's  become  of  your  wife's  fortune  ?  is  it  all  spent  ? 
And,  because  my  father  thought  it  no  easy  matter  to 
give  you  as  much  money  as  you  deserved,  you  must 

[  J32  1 


1L\)t  instoty  of  £|9i%  3flol)n  H>cca0tio 

e'en  have  half  poor  Peg's'cash ;  is  that  all  spent  too  ? 
You  turn  out  a  pretty  fellow  to  be  trusted,  and  my 
father  must  quarrel  with  me  for  talking  about  securi- 
ties when  a  man  of  so  much  trust  and  honour  was 
coming  into  our  family.  What  is  become  of  the  forty 
and  five  thousand  pounds  which  you  carried  out  of  our 
house  ?  Is  there  enough  left  to  buy  your  wife  a  pair 
of  shoes  ?  is  there  enough  left  to  buy  yourself  a  halter  ? 
I  know  to  an  hour  when  the  last  five  thousand  pounds 
were  sold  out  of  the  stocks  to  pay  that  blood  hound  St. 
Clair  a  Newmarket  bet.  I  avoid  you !  who  began  ?  I 
would  have  put  a  guard  upon  Jane's  money,  my  father 
asked  me  if  I  took  you  for  a  scoundrel  ?  He  cursed, 
and  you  swore,  and  would  as  soon  come  near  the  devil 
as  look  at  me  for  ten  years  together.  You  stirred  the 
fire  between  my  father  and  me,  it  might  have  gone  out 
after  a  hasty  flash,  and  got  me  disinherited.  How 
came  I  to  find  this  out  ?  I  found  the  whole  corre- 
spondence between  you  and  my  father  amongst  John's 
papers.  This  was  revenge  enough,  or  you  must  have 
had  a  savage's  appetite  for  it.  But  it  is  no  matter. 
You  had  at  least  the  credit  to  think  it  were  impossible 
I  should  find  this  out ;  but  now  it  seems  you  have  a 
mind  to  put  me  in  a  way  to  return  an  obligation :  you 
have  got  hold  of  the  wrong  man  for  that.  Send  your 
stewards  to  me  and  I  will  see  what  can  best  be  done 
for  you. 

Yours, 

Bartholomew  Decastro. 
Oaken-Grove  Farm, 
May  30th. 

In  answer  to  this  came  a  letter  of  confession,  and,  to 
do  Lord  Budemere  justice,  of  sorrow  too,  for  this  ma- 
licious act.  It  is  very  odd  that  a  man  should  look  like 
a  fool  when  he  is  detected  in  doing  a  wrong  thing :  but 
the  next  time  Old  Crab  and  Lord  Budemere  met  one 
another  the  latter  gentleman  certainly  looked  very  silly : 
[?33] 


GPljr  piston?  of  spr.  3iot)it  SDrrastro 

but  that  his  lordship  may  not  look  silly  in  print  also, 
we  will  not  insert  his  letter :  but  to  express  one's  sor- 
row, and  make  what  amends  one  can  for  a  fault,  is  the 
only  way  to  put  off  a  silly  face  and  put  on  a  wise  one. 
Sed  de  his  hactenus* 

But  the  pork  and  butter  shop  raised  a  loud  laugh  at 
the  castle,  and  it  might  have  been  as  well  if  matters 
had  ended  there,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  had  a 
mind  to  make  themselves  a  little  more  merriment  upon 
it  while  their  hand  was  in,  though  there  was  more  mal- 
ice mixed  with  their  merriment  than  made  for  their 
credit.  How  far  provocation  may  go  towards  an  excuse 
for  them,  the  reader  will  judge,  to  whom  we  submit  the 
following  letter. 

TO    MRS.    DECASTRO. 

My  dear  Sister  :  I  have  written  two  letters  to  you, 
one  of  which  I  sent  to  Paris,  and  the  other  to  Rome,  at 
both  which  places  you  have  been  said  to  be,  but  having 
received  no  answer  to  either,  I  am  willing  to  try  once 
more  to  find  you  by  sending  a  letter  to  my  brother  for 
you,  in  whose  neighbourhood  we  have  been  told  you 
are,  and  where  we  rather  think  you  are,  because  my 
lord  mentioned  the  thing  in  a  letter  to  my  brother  Bat, 
and,  though  he  does  not  say  that  you  are,  he  certainly 
does  not  deny  it  in  his  answer  to  my  lord,  which  we 
think  he  certainly  would  have  done  had  the  thing  not 
been  really  so,  very  well  knowing  his  way  in  such  mat- 
ters, for  he  not  only  will  not  deceive  one  himself,  but 
will  not  let  another  deceive  one  if  he  can  help  it. 

I  therefore  set  down  Colonel  Barret's  intelligence  as 
true,  who  has  got  news  of  you  on  his  way  from  Scot- 
land, but  the  account  he  brings  has  given  us  the  great- 
est mortification :  indeed  I  was  so  vexed  when  I  heard 

*  A  Latin  phrase,  meaning  "but  enough  of  this." — Editor's 
Note. 

[134] 


Ct)c  history  of  Wv.  Jioljn  EDecastro 

it  that  I  was  forced  to  leave  the  room,  and  I  did  but 
just  save  my  distance,  for  the  moment  I  got  out  at  the 
door  I  burst  into  tears:  and  this  as  much  at  the  mali- 
cious satisfaction,  which  some  people  who  were  with  us 
were  not  even  at  the  pains  to  conceal  in  our  presence, 
amongst  whom  Mrs.  Perrimont,  and  Sir  Harry  and 
Lady  St.  Clair  were  the  very  devils  of  them  all :  yes, 
my  dear  sister,  they  actually  seemed  glad  that  you  and 
Mr.  Decastro  were  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  keeping 
a  dirty  shop  to  get  bread  for  yourselves  and  your  chil- 
dren! 

When  I  returned  to  the  room  I  felt  as  if  I  had  a 
mad  dog  in  my  throat  the  first  time  I  spoke  to  either 
of  them.  I  was  so  enraged  at  their  conduct,  that  I 
spoke  to  my  lord  about  it,  but  he  said  it  must  not  be 
noticed,  for  he  owed  Sir  Harry  St.  Clair  a  great  deal  of 
money:  and  a  cursed  king  of  clubs  coming  up  at  a 
rubber  at  whist  laid  me  under  the  hatches  to  Madam 
Perrimont  for  three  hundred  guineas :  so  my  lord  and 
I  were  e'en  forced  to  eat  our  toads  and  be  silent,  and 
be  more  than  civil  to  people  we  could  be  glad  to  see 
hanged. 

Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair,  you  know,  are  both  of 
them  great  mimics,  and  they  must  needs  give  us  a 
specimen  of  their  talents  at  your  expense ;  Sir  Harry 
tied  his  handkerchief  round  him  to  serve  for  an  apron, 
a  table  was  made  to  stand  for  a  counter,  and  Lady  St. 
Clair  came  to  buy  butter,  and  Mrs.  Perrimont  was  the 
first  to  countenance  their  scandalous  buffooneries  with 
her  malicious  laugh ;  they  met  with  too  much  support 
from  the  rest  who  were  present,  but  there  was  a  pre- 
eminence of  malice  in  her  applause — I  could  have  spit 
in  her  face ! 

O  how  I  wished  at  that  moment  that  the  old  castle 
in  the  north  were  restored  to  its  ancient  grandeur,  and 
that  you  were  shining  in  it  upon  twenty  thousand  a 
year !  There  is  a  time,  as  good  luck  will  have  it,  when 
people  grow  tired  of  playing  the  fool ;  as  soon  as  this 
farce  was  over,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  all  their  mal- 

[i35] 


Wtyt  tyitftorg  of  $)r»  3|oljn  SDccatftro 

ice,  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair  put  about  a  subscrip- 
tion for  you,  and,  though  not  one  penny  was  collected, 
there  were  twenty  names  subscribed  in  a  very  charitable 
way,  for  there  were  at  least  as  many  people  in  the  room, 
and  none  to  a  less  sum  than  ten  guineas.  This  sub- 
scription has  since  been  greatly  extended,  and,  if  we 
can  get  the  money,  it  will  purchase  an  annuity  sufficient 
to  keep  you  out  of  a  filthy  shop. 

I  must  now  tell  you  that  my  lord  and  I,  Sir  Harry 
and  Lady  St.  Clair,  and  Mrs.  Perrimont  have  made  a 
party  to  visit  the  Lakes  this  summer,  when  we  mean 
to  take  you  in  our  way,  as  my  lord  has  some  business 
with  my  brother  Bat. — But  after  all,  this  letter  may 
never  find  you ;  for  why  may  not  Colonel  Barret's  in- 
telligence be  false  as  well  as  any  other  story  we  have 
heard  told  of  you  ?  These  my  doubts  make  this  letter 
shorter  than  it  would  have  been  if  I  were  sure  it  would 
come  to  you. — My  love  to  my  brother. 
Your  very  affectionate 

Sister  Jane. 

What  a  sad  thing  it  is  that  folks  should  ever  grow 
tired  of  laughing !  But  it  comes  to  be  dangerous  if 
held  on  too  long,  forasmuch  as  it  brings  pains  and 
stitches  in  the  back  and  sides,  and  some  have  gone  so 
far  as  to  burst  themselves,  which  is  no  laughing  mat- 
ter. As  soon  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  got  breath,  for 
they  laughed  at  this  letter  as  long  as  they  had  any ; 
they  arose  from  a  sofa,  on  which  they  had  thrown 
themselves  to  laugh  more  at  their  ease,  and  devised  the 
following  plot  to  bring  these  gay  folks  to  the  castle. 
Now  the  pork  and  butter  shop  was  not  to  be  given  up 
by  any  means,  and,  to  give  them  their  due,  they  cer- 
tainly made  the  best  of  it,  though  a  little  at  the  ex- 
pense of  truth,  and  that  was  something  strange,  for  it 
was  the  first  time  that  a  shop  and  a  lie  ever  came  to- 
[*36] 


&t)r  Otstmy  of  $$v.  3f|otjn  Decastro 

gether  since  the  creation  of  the  world.  Mrs.  Decastro 
stuck  to  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair  till  her  tongue 
drew  blisters  upon  their  malicious  mockeries,  and  it 
might  not  be  the  first  time  they  deserved  to  be  hanged 
for  their  pains ;  but  at  all  events  one  should  not  tell  a 
lie  to  bring  even  a  murderer  to  the  gallows,  though  it 
might  be  the  means,  and  the  only  means  too,  to  bring 
him  there,  aye,  though  the  letting  him  loose  would  be 
the  cutting  of  ten  more  throats  one  after  another. — 
Mr.  Decastro  stuck  a  little  at  the  following  answer 
written  by  Mrs.  Decastro  to  her  sister's  letter. 

My  dear  Sister  :  My  poor  husband  and  I  beg  to 
return  our  best  thanks  for  your  kind  letter,  and  more 
especially  for  that  part  of  it  where  it  is  said  that  a  sub- 
scription has  been  put  about  for  us — pray  thank  all  our 
kind  friends  in  our  names :  money  indeed  is  a  very  wel- 
come thing  to  poor  folks  in  distress — it  will  indeed  be 
a  great  happiness  to  be  set  upon  an  independent  foot 
for  the  remainder  of  our  lives :  we  owe  what  little  mat- 
ters we  enjoy  to  the  provision  and  goodness  of  your 
brother  Bat,  and  indeed  the  little  bit  of  bread  which 
we  eat  he  puts  into  our  mouths — he  has  done  great 
things  for  us  to  set  us  clear  of  all  the  world,  and  bring 
us  into  a  way  to  get  a  maintenance  if  we  will  but  be 
careful  and  diligent  in  our  business.  It  will  give  us 
great  pleasure  to  see  our  kind  friends  and  benefactors, 
and  thank  them  in  person  for  their  charitable  donations : 
Colonel  Barret  told  you  the  truth,  your  brother  Bat  has 
put  us  into  a  house  at  no  great  distance  from  his  own, 
and  keeps  us  under  his  eye  and  directions :  our  dis- 
tresses have  so  mortified  our  pride  that  we  shall  not 
run  away  for  shame  if  you  condescend  to  call  at  our 
shop. 

Your  brother  begs  me  to  say  that  he  has  got  some 
rooms  for  you  and  your  party  at  the  house  of  a  great 
man  in  this  neighbourhood,  who  will  not  be  put  to  any 

[i37] 


Wist  fyiatoty  of  $9r.  Jiotm  SDcrastio 

inconvenience,  his  place  being  very  large :  so  far  from 
it  that,  knowing  you  and  Lord  Budemere,  he  will  be 
much  gratified,  he  says,  in  having  an  opportunity  to  re- 
turn some  civilities,  which  he  somewhere  received  from 
his  lordship.  A  man  will  be  sent  to  be  your  guide 
from  Carlisle  to  this  place.  Will  you  allow  me  to  take 
the  liberty  of  subscribing  myself 

Your  ladyship's  very  affectionate  sister, 
and  very  thankful  and  extremely 
obliged  humble  servant, 

M.  Decastro. 

Now  there  were  a  great  many  pro's  and  con's  passed 
between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  upon  this  letter,  and 
he'took  some  pains  to  flatter  his  wife  into  a  mind  to 
burn  it,  but  it  was  more  than  he  could  do,  so  the  letter 
was  sealed  and  sent.  Mrs.  Decastro  talked  a  great 
deal,  which  is  a  very  unusual  thing  for  a  lady  to  do, 
about  inviting  these  fine  folks  to  the  castle  in  order  to 
return  good  for  evil.  Mr.  Decastro  must  needs  have 
it  that  there  would  be  revenge  in  it,  that  the  grandeur 
of  the  place  would  make  it  a  house  of  correction,  and 
would  give  a  great  deal  of  pain  to  minds  full  of  envy 
and  malice  worse  than  if  they  came  into  Bridewell  and 
got  well  whipped.  This  did  but  give  furtherance  to  his 
wife's  argument  that  to  correct  and  punish  bad  people 
was  an  act  of  charity  to  themselves,  as  well  as  to 
others: — upon  this  Mrs.  Decastro  won  the  day  and 
wore  the  breeches. 

Now  Mrs.  Decastro  was  mighty  busy  in  preparing 
for  her  company,  and  drew  out  her  whole  stock  of 
grandeur  for  the  occasion.  Everything  that  could  shine 
was  brought  forward,  and  she  certainly  had  shining 
stuff  enough  about  her  to  content  a  moderate  person. 
Now  the  day  came,  notwithstanding  it  was  fixed,  which 
[138] 


Cl)c  t?tstory  of  tOr.  31ol)n  EDecastto 

looks  a  little  like  a  contradiction  in  terms,  but  it  is  not 
for  all  that,  when  Old  Comical  was  despatched  to  Car- 
lisle as  the  guide  aforesaid,  and  a  very  fit  person,  some 
may  think,  to  come  into  this  farce,  as  the  guide  afore- 
said, to  be  read}-  at  the  time  named  by  Lord  Budemere 
in  his  answer  to  Old  Crab's  letter:  thus  far  by  way  of 
protasis  to  the  matter,  that  is  to  say,  the  forelaying  of 
the  ground :  the  epitasis  thereof,  that  is  to  say  the 
bustle,  comes  next. 

Now  there  were  many  muscles  set  in  motion,  and  a 
great  deal  of  straining  in  the  castle,  not  only  to  get 
every  thing  ready,  but  to  get  it  ready  in  the  best  pos- 
sible manner,  forasmuch  as  Mrs.  Decastro  had  a  mind 
to  let  folks  see  that  her  husband  fell,  like  the  sun,  to 
rise  and  shine  again,  and  a  very  dazzling  piece  of  work 
she  made  of  it.  The  grandest  service  of  plate  was 
brought  out,  the  choicest  wines,  and  every  nicety 
which  art  could  invent  or  money  could  buy  was  pro- 
cured for  the  table,  and  so  malicious  was  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro that  she  ordered  new  liveries  for  all  the  servants, 
blue  with  gold  epaulets,  and  shoulder  knots,  and  the 
devil  knows  what !  and  who  should  know  if  the  devil 
did  not,  who  had  so  great  a  hand  in  this  matter  ? 

Now  as  soon  as  the  housekeeper  and  butler  had  re- 
ceived and  executed  their  orders,  and  Mrs.  Decastro 
had  looked  over  all  to  see  that  nothing  might  miss  fire, 
she  strutted  through  her  stately  apartments  and  eyed 
all  her  grandeur  over,  and  felt  as  spiteful  as  old  Nic. 

"  A  pork  and  butter  shop,  indeed !  dealers  in  snuff 
and  tobacco !  They  shall  have  money's  worth  if  they 
come  to  our  shop,  I'll  warrant  them!"  would  she  say, 
sometimes  casting  her  eyes  on  the  silk  furniture,  some- 
times on  the  fine  old  family  pictures,  and  sometimes  on 
[i39] 


W$t  tytttotp  of  spr.  Jioljit  SDtcafitco 

the  magnificent  painted  ceilings:  her  heart  leaped  in 
her  bosom  at  the  thought  of  such  exquisite  revenge. 
Now  people  that  have  got  a  great  deal  of  money  can 
do  any  thing  but  put  it  to  its  right  use.  Mr.  Decastro, 
(how  could  he  be  so  silly  ?)— Mr.  Decastro  had  given 
orders  that  a  little  building  should  be  erected  at  the 
park  gates,  in  the  form  of  a  little  shop,  over  the  door 
of  which  was  painted  in  capital  letters,  John  Decas- 
tro, Dealer  in  Snuff  and  Tobacco.  N.  B.  Pork 
axd  Butter  by  Retail.  When  this  farce  was  acted 
Old  Crab  was  confined  to  his  bed  with  a  fever. 

Now  the  clay  was  come,  as  we  said  before,  and  say 
again,  to  put  the  reader  in  mind  of  it.  Lord  Budemere 
and  Sir  Harry  St.  Clair's  carriages  drove  to  the  ferry 
and  Old  Comical  put  the  horn  to  his  mouth  and  blew  a 
loud  blast  to  call  the  ferryman.  After  long  sitting 
folks  are  as  glad  to  stand,  as  after  long  standing  they 
are  glad  to  sit,  which  is  so  far  from  being  a  shallow 
observation  that  it  is  a  very  deep  one,  for  it  comes 
from  the  bottom.  Our  good  people  in  the  carriages  had 
sat  till  they  were  tired  of  their  cushions,  though  softer 
could  not  be  put  underneath  a  man,  and  they  all  got 
out  to  rest  themselves— and  the  ladies  got  out  for  a 
certain  other  reason;  now,  fair  reader,  what  makes 
you  in  such  a  fuss  ?  there  is  nothing  the  matter ;  the 
certain  thing  that  made  the  ladies  get  out  of  their  car- 
riages was,  that  if  the  horses  had  a  mind  to  dash  out  of 
the  ferry-boat  into  the  water,  they  had  no  mind  to  go 
along  with  them,  that's  all :  adzooks !  some  folks  have 
such  ticklish  imaginations,  the  ladies  especially,  they 
are  always  thinking  of  things  which  it  is  not  fit  to 
eat. 

But  we  are  losing  time  and  talking  nonsense — talk- 
[mo] 


Cljr  in  story  of  30v.  31olm  EDfcastro 

ing  nonsense !  what  pleases  better  ?  and  as  for  losing 
time  it  is  better  lost  than  found,  for  what  hangs  so 
heavy  upon  people's  hands  ?  But  we  shall  never  get 
these  fine  folks  into  the  ferry-boat — now  they  are  all  in 
— one  admires  the  fineness  of  the  day,  another  the 
beauties  of  the  woods,  another  the  clearness  of  the 
water,  another  the  lofty  towers  of  the  old  castle  lifting 
their  magnificent  heads  over  the  old  oaks  on  the  hill, 
another — but  hold  a  moment,  how  many  are  there  of 
them  ?  Lord  Budemere  one,  Lady  Budemere  two,  Sir 
Harry  St.  Clair  three,  Lady  St.  Clair  four— and  Mrs. 
Perrimont  five;  we  may  go  on  yet  safely — another 
wonders  whose  fine  place  the  castle  is?  Now  the 
moral  to  this  prudent  stop  by  the  way  is  this,  viz. 
every  one  should  count  his  money  before  he  runs  into 
expenses. 

If  we  had  run  on  and  set  six  people  to  making  obser- 
vations when  there  were  only  five  in  the  boat,  we  had 
as  good  gone  to  the  devil  at  once,  for  we  certainly 
should  have  been  sent  there.  But  Old  Comical  was 
ready  upon  the  wonder  just  expressed  as  to  whose  fine 
place  the  castle  might  be;  forasmuch  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Decastro,  merry  souls,  had  tainted  him  with  their  fun, 
inoculated  him  with  their  humour,  "  that  noble  old  pile 
belongs  to  one  Mr.  Decastro,"  quoth  he. 

"  One  Mr.  Decastro !  "  said  Lord  Budemere ;  "  what 
Mr.  Decastro? " 

"What  Mr.  Decastro!"  quoth  Old  Comical;  "why, 
my  lord,  to  define  the  man,  that  is  to  say  to  give  his 
species  and  his  difference,  it  is  Mr.  Decastro,  a  man 
with  a  long  chin  and  a  nose  like  the  witch  of  Endor's 
upon  a  bit  of  gingerbread." 

These  words  called  the  attention  of  the  party  upon 
[HO 


Wqt  Jnston?  of  S£v.  51otjn  £>0ca0tto 

Old  Comical,  who  had  rid  behind  the  carriages  amongst 
the  servants  not  much  regarded,  only  giving  the  word 
of  command  now  and  then  to  the  drivers—"  wheel  to 
the  right!"  or,  "wheel  to  the  left!"  as  need  were. 
Now  in  the  face  of  Old  Comical,  not  easily  forgotten, 
Lady  St.  Clair  recognised  an  old  acquaintance,  and, 
tossing  her  veil  over  her  head,  asked  him  if  he  did  not 
recollect  her  ?  Old  Comical,  who  had  some  reasons  to 
be  a  little  shy  of  old  acquaintance,  gave  a  shrug,  as  a 
man  does  who  drops  his  eye  upon  a  snake,  for  he  knew 
her  in  a  moment. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  sir  ?  "  said  her  ladyship. 

"Yes,  my  lady,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "but  not  until 
your  ladyship  pulled  up  the  little  petticoat  that  hung 
down  over  your  ladyship's  face." 

"  We  met  once  in  Northamptonshire  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Face  to  face,  my  lady,  face  to  face :  I  used  to  tell 
lies  once,  but  I  have  left  off  that  and  stealing  too,  two 
dogs  that  run  in  couples,  my  lady — two  clogs — " 

"  But,  pray  sir,"  said  she,  "  what  is  become  of  your 
fine  gold  laced  waistcoat  ?  " 

"Left  that  off  too,  my  lady,"  quoth  Old  Comical, 
"  or,  if  your  ladyship  pleases,  it  left  me  off ;  it  dropped 
off  my  back  somewhere  between  Salisbury  and  An- 
dover,  my  lady,  and  how  far  it  travelled  before  it  left 
that  road  it  is  taking  too  much  upon  me  to  say." 

"  Are  not  you  ashamed  to  come  to  any  body's  house 
and  tell  so  many  lies  as  you  did  at  my  father's  ?  "  said 
she. 

"  Yes,  my  lady,"  quoth  Old  Comical ;  "  I  am  ashamed 

now,  but  I  was  not  then ;  my  blushes  don't  fly  in  my 

face  in  a  moment,  my  lady,  like  some  people's  blushes, 

my  blushes  are  a  long  while  a-coming ;  for  instance,  my 

[142] 


W$t  H?i*toq?  of  t^r.  31ot)n  HDecastto 

lady,  if  I  did  a  naughty  thing  now,  I  should  not  blush 
until  this  time  two  years." 

"This  is  a  devilish  odd  fellow,"  said  Sir  Harry  St. 
Clair. 

"  You  would  have  better  reasons  to  think  so,  my 
dear,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  if  you  knew  as  much  of  him 
as  I  do." 

Upon  which  she  told  the  story  of  Old  Comical's 
visit  at  her  father's  house,  where  he  lay  at  bed  and 
board  for  a  week,  sang  his  songs,  cracked  his  jokes, 
and  sent  the  master  of  the  house  a  hundred  miles  upon 
a  wild  goose  chase  after  some  dying  relation. 

"You  see  what  comes  of  these  things,"  said  her 
ladyship ;  "  a  man  that  does  wrong  will  some  day  look 
like  a  fool." 

"A  man  had  best  always  look  like  a  fool,"  quoth  Old 
Comical,  "  and  then  he  need  not  be  afraid  of  being  put 
out  of  countenance,  my  lady." 

"  Don't  you  think  you  deserve  to  be  hanged,"  said 
she,  "  for  robbing  the  tailor  and  shoemaker  at  North- 
ampton ? " 

"  I  have  paid  both  out  of  my  savings,  my  lady. 
Stealing,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "is  but  a  sort  of  run- 
ning in  debt  after  all ;  if  a  thief  takes  a  thing,  he  does 
but  owe  another  for  it,  who  is  sure  never  to  get  paid  if 
he  hangs  a  man :  this  comes  of  hanging  folks.  I  never 
could  hold  with  your  capital  punishments:  a  halter 
gives  a  man  no  chance;  it  saves  money,  indeed,  for  if 
a  rogue  were  left  alive,  he  might  grow  to  be  honest 
and  make  restitution,  but  neither  amendment,  repent- 
ance, nor  restitution  come  of  a  man  after  he  is  throt- 
tled :  this  is  a  great  mistake  in  the  laws.  Send  a  poor 
fellow  to  jail  to  be  mended  like  a  pair  of  breeches  with 

[143] 


tElje  totoq?  of  $ft.  3|ofon  ffittcastro 

a  fault  in  the  tail  to  their  architect— there  I  hold  with 
you,  a  stitch  in  time  saves  nine.  But  that  Christians 
should  ever  be  so  hardhearted,  or  legislators  such  fools, 
as  to  take  away  from  a  man  what  they  cannot  give,  be- 
cause he  hath  taken  from  another  what  he  might  live 
to  return,  gives  me  a  fit  of  the  colic  whenever  I  think 
of  it,  my  lady." 

"You  are  a  droll  hand,"  said  Lord  Budemere; 
"pray,  sir,  what  is  your  name? " 

"  Why,  my  lord,  folks  call  me  Old  Comical,  but  my 
name  is  John  Mathers  of  Cock-a-doodle  in  Northamp- 
tonshire." 

"  What !  "  said  lady  St.  Clair,  "do  you  pretend  to  be 
related  to  Mr.  Mathers  of  Northamptonshire  ? " 

"  I  am  younger  brother  to  that  very  gentleman,  my 
lady,  worse  luck, — he  came  first  and  took  all,  and  left 
me  to  smell  at  the  empty  cupboards." 

"You  have  left  off  telling  lies,  you  say,"  said  her 
ladyship. 

"  I  will  never  tell  another  as  long  as  I  live,  my  lady, 
if  the  devil  don't  come  slap  upon  me  at  a  short  turning 
— he  jumps  upon  a  man  like  a  cat,  sometimes,  that  is 
the  worst  of  him." 

"  Come,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  I  may  be  of  some  ser- 
vice to  you;  Mr.  Mathers  has  advertised  for  a  lost 
brother,  who,  if  he  can  be  found,  may  hear  of  some- 
thing very  much  to  his  advantage :  "  upon  which  lady 
St.  Clair  put  her  hand  into  her  carriage  and  gave  Old 
Comical  the  Morning  Post  which  contained  the  adver- 
tisement. 

At  that  moment  the  boat  came  ashore.  Old  Comical 
put  the  news  into  his  pocket,  not  that  he  wanted  curi- 
osity, but  time  to  read  the  paper,  and  remounted  his 
[J44] 


W$t  toistorp  of  $Bt.  31ol)it  Decastro 

horse :  so  away  they  all  went,  Old  Comical  galloping 
first,  upon  full  speed,  to  the  park  gates.  Now  the  gates 
being  shut,  they  stopped  thereat,  as  it  was  very  natural 
for  them  to  do,  when  two  iron  gates,  fifteen  feet  high, 
stood  bolted  just  before  the  horses'  noses:  some  may 
not  stick  to  say  this  was  no  good  reason  for  their  stand- 
ing still,  and,  the  hurry  they  were  in  considered,  find 
us  guilty  of  great  improbabilities,  and  add  moreover, 
that  when  a  coach  and  four  goes  at  full  speed,  no  stone 
wall,  much  less  iron  gates,  were  ever  known  to  stop 
them:  they  stopped  at  the  park  gates  as  we  were 
a-saying,  however,  not  because  the  said  gates  were 
shut,  perhaps,  but  because  Lord  Budemere  caught 
sight  of  the  pork  and  butter  shop  which  was  put  there 
on  purpose. 

"  Here  is  poor  Decastro's  shop,"  exclaimed  his  lord- 
ship, "let  us  all  get  out  and  call  on  him." 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  loud  laugh  heard  in 
Sir  Harry's  carriage  which  came  behind,  for  he  and 
her  ladyship,  having  eyes  in  their  heads  as  well  as  Lord 
Budemere,  used  them  to  a  like  purpose  and  saw  the 
shop  and  the  name  above  the  door  as  soon  as  he  did. 
Now  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  were  quite  prepared  for 
their  customers,  attired  like  two  petty  shopkeepers,  and 
standing  in  the  midst  of  their  pork  and  butter  all  ready 
laid  out  for  sale.  Mr.  Decastro  had  his  knife  between 
his  teeth  when  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Budemere 
entered  his  shop ;  round  his  waist  he  wore  a  brown 
Holland  apron,  upon  his  person  a  blue  butcher's  jacket 
adorned  with  white  sleeves  all  covered  with  blood  and 
grease,  as  if  he  had  just  stuck  or  cut  out  a  pig. 

As  soon  as  the  whole  party  had  a  full  view  of  him, 
he  retired  into  a  little  room  as  if  ashamed  to  be  seen, 
10  [M5] 


(Etje  ^istot*p  of  spi%  31ol)it  SDecaatto 

and  left  Mrs.  Decastro  to  make  an  end  of  the  farce : 
she  was  very  dirty  and  very  ragged — held  a  bloody 
cloth  in  one  hand,  a  loin  of  pork  by  the  tail  in  the 
other,  stood  and  stared  like  one  confounded,  and  said 
not  a  word.  On  her  head  she  had  a  cap  with  long  ears 
to  it  that  covered  a  good  deal  of  her  face,  but  so  be- 
grimmed  with  dirt  and  grease,  as  well  as  her  face, 
which  had  a  cloud  of  snuff  upon  it,  that  her  sister 
could  scarce  recollect  her,  but  the  moment  she  did  she 
burst  into  tears,  and  was  forced  to  go  back  into  her 
carriage.  She  shed  tears  for  the  whole  company,  how- 
ever, for  there  was  no  crying  amongst  the  rest,  they 
were  too  much  in  a  laughing  humour  for  that.  Lord 
Budemere,  it  must  be  said  to  his  honour,  looked  very 
grave:  Mrs.  Decastro  had  much  ado  to  keep  up  the 
comedy,  when  Lady  St.  Clair,  eyeing  her  through  her 
glass,  started  back,  exclaiming,  "  Good  heaven,  this  is 
Mrs.  Decastro ! " 

"When  folks  fall  into  misfortune,  my  lady,"  said 
Mrs.  Decastro,  "  and  grow  poor  who  once  were  rich,  it 
is  no  easy  matter  to  be  known  by  their  old  friends : 
there  was  a  time,  (continued  she,  making  an  humble 
courtesy,)  when  I  could  appear  on  a  foot  with  your 
ladyship,  who  did  me  the  honour  to  visit  at  my  house 
amongst  others  of  like  rank  and  fashion;  but  these 
things  will  soon  sink  into  oblivion  at  the  sight  of  a 
poor  shopkeeper." 

Lady  St.  Clair,  with  a  haughty  toss,  said,  "  she  did 
not  recollect  her  at  first,"  and  taking  a  crimson  and 
gold  purse  out  of  her  pocket  (the  ladies  wore  pockets 
at  that  day)  containing  ten  guineas,  (a  guinea  was  a 
gold  coin  current  in  England  at  that  time)  flung  it 
with  an  elegant  air  into  Mrs.  Decastro's  ragged  apron, 
[146] 


Wc^t  Unstotp  of  spv.  31ol)n  SDecastw 

held  up  to  receive  her  ladyship's  charity;  but  the 
purse,  in  scorn,  perhaps,  made  its  way  through  a  great 
hole  in  it,  and  fell  into  a  basket  of  griskins;  upon 
which  Lady  St.  Clair  turned  round  to  Sir  Harry,  and 
asked  the  baronet  with  a  loud  laugh,  if  he  did  not  think 
the  woman  had  brought  her  pigs  to  a  good  market  ? 

Sir  Harry,  who  could  laugh  the  loudest  where  an- 
other would  shed  tears,  took  up  the  basket  of  pork, 
and,  with  much  politeness,  picked  the  purse  out  of  the 
pig-meat  and  presented  it  to  Mrs.  Decastro:  upon  this, 
too  proud  to  be  outdone  by  his  lady  in  almsdeeds,  the 
baronet  drew  out  his  note-case,  and,  opening  a  twenty 
pound  bank  bill  so  that  all  might  see  the  full  value  of 
it,  drew  it  through  the  air  between  his  finger  and 
thumb  like  a  flag,  and  walking  towards  the  counter, 
behind  which  Mrs.  Decastro  had  retired  with  her  purse 
to  put  the  money  into  the  till,  laid  it  at  its  full  length 
upon  the  shop-board ;  upon  which  Mrs.  Decastro  took 
the  bank  note,  looked  at  its  value,  made  the  baronet  a 
courtesy,  and  humbly  thanked  him.  Having  poured 
the  gold  out  of  the  purse,  she  came  and  returned  it  to 
lady  St.  Clair,  who,  shocked  at  the  sight  of  it  after  it 
had  defiled  itself  amongst  the  pork  griskins,  flung  it 
from  her  with  indignation,  and  called  Mrs.  Decastro  a 
nasty  woman. 

Now  Lord  Budemere,  casting  an  eye  of  superiority 
upon  the  baronet,  took  out  a  thirty  pound  note,  and, 
telling  Mrs.  Decastro  how  much  pain  it  gave  him  that 
she  should  come  to  want  such  a  trifle,  put  it  into  her 
hand  with  great  expression  of  sorrow  in  his  counte- 
nance. Mrs.  Perrimont  stood  by  the  while,  and,  hold- 
ing up  her  petticoats  for  fear  of  getting  grease  from 
the  dirty  floor,  bore  witness  to  all  that  passed.     Now, 

I'M?] 


<&\)t  ijittovv  of  $r.  31olm  SDecastro 

as  soon  as  others  had  gratified  their  charitable  appe- 
tites, she  came  forward  lest  she  should  be  outdone — 
pride  is  a  virtue,  it  makes  folks  so  very  charitable — lest 
she  should  be  outdone  in  charity  she  came  forward  with 
her  ten  pound  note,  and,  making  Mrs.  Decastro  an 
apology  for  the  smallness  of  her  contribution,  as  being 
a  traveller,  and  not  having  much  money  about  her,  put 
on  her  glove  first,  and  then  ventured  to  put  the  note 
into  Mrs.  Decastro's  dirty  paws.  Now  Lady  Bude- 
mere  gave  her  nothing  but  her  tears,  a  more  valuable 
present  than  any  she  had  received  from  all  the  rest  put 
together. 


[148] 


CHAPTER    XII 

How   Lord    Budemere   and  his    Party  were  received   at  the 
Castle. 

Mrs.  Decastro,  having  repeated  her  thanks  and 
her  courtesies,  made  an  excuse  for  her  husband,  who 
was,  she  said,  too  much  affected  to  be  seen  at  that 
time,  but  if  the  party  would  do  him  so  much  honour  as 
to  call  at  their  shop  the  next  day,  he  might  summon 
resolution  sufficient  to  see  them :  thus  far  Mrs.  Decas- 
tro supported  her  character  like  an  actress  of  no  com- 
mon merit,  but,  to  make  room  for  the  party  to  get  out 
of  the  shop,  which  was  very  small,  she  had  the  ill  luck 
to  press  her  pocket  against  the  counter  and  set  her  re- 
peater a-striking  in  it ! 

Now  this  was  so  uncommon  a  sound  to  be  expected 
in  such  a  place  that  every  body  present  took  notice  of 
it.  Mrs.  Decastro,  however, — O  that  wit  were  ever  so 
at  hand ! — instantly  said  that  her  husband  did  a  little 
business  in  the  watch-making  way,  and  she  had  just 
been  to  fetch  the  lady's  watch  from  the  great  house. 
Upon  which,  Lord  Budemere  promising  to  call  the 
next  day,  they  all  got  into  their  carriages,  and  there 
was  a  loud  laugh  heard  in  Sir  Harry's  as  they  drove 
through  the  park  gates.  Being  now  come  into  the 
middle  of  the  park,  and  into  a  full  view  of  the  superb 
old  castle,  Lord  Budemere  stopped  his  carriage  and 
calling  out  to  Old  Comical,  began  to  question  him 
about  it  and  its  owner. 

[x49] 


tHJje  fyistovp  of  spr.  }f|ol)n  SDecastro 

"Why,  my  lord,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "the  woman 
at  the  shop  would  have  told  you  all  about  it  if  you 
had  asked  her ;  the  castle  and  the  park,  and  a  world 
besides  belong  to  one  'Squire  Decastro;  and  it  is 
the  very  house  we  have  been  looking  for  all  day; 
but  if  your  lordship  thinks  you  shall  lose  your  way 
to  it  now  you  see  it,  I  will  ride  with  your  lordship 
up  to  the  gates,  and  put  the  building  into  your  lord- 
ship's hand." 

"  O  this  is  the  house  we  are  to  be  at,  is  it  ? "  said 
Lord  Budemere;  "pray  what  is  the  name  of  this 
place  ? " 

"Why,  didn't  I  tell  your  lordship  the  name  of  it? " 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  not  knowing  this  to  be  the  place  we 
were  coming  to,  I  did  not  ask  for  any  thing  but  the 
owner's  name." 

"The  name  of  this  place,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "is 
Oaken  Grove." 

Saying  which  Old  Comical  took  off  his  hat  and  wig 
at  the  same  time,  either  for  more  respect  to  his  lord- 
ship, or  because  one  stuck  fast  in  the  other,  and, 
branching  off  into  a  side  road,  galloped  away  to  Old 
Crab's  farm-house. 

Now  Lord  Budemere  and  his  party  galloped  over  the 
draw-bridge  and  under  a  superb  archway  into  the 
square,  and  coming  up  to  the  grand  entrance  were  re- 
ceived by  four  or  five  servants  in  splendid  liveries  at 
the  hall  door.  They  were  then  shown  into  a  large 
apartment,  which  was  called  the  saloon,  and  the  butler 
came  to  inform  them  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  were 
in  their  dressing-rooms,  and  that  the  first  bell  had  just 
been  rung  for  dinner.  They  were  now  shown  to  their 
apartments,  which  were  some  of  the  best  in  the  castle, 
[ISO] 


Ctje  J?i0tot£  of  $pi\  31otjn  EDecastro 

much  wondering,  who  this  Mr.  Decastro  could  be  that 
was  the  owner  of  this  noble  palace. 

Curiosity  puts  folks  into  the  fidgets :  Lord  Budemere 
and  his  party  never  dressed  themselves  in  such  a  hurry 
for  dinner  in  their  lives.  Who  could  this  Mr.  Decastro 
be  ?  was  he  some  relation  ?  how  came  he  to  be  so  long 
unknown  ?  how  came  the  world  never  to  have  heard  of 
him  ?  had  he  bought  the  castle  ?  did  he  rent  it  ?  how 
the  devil  came  he  into  it  ? 

"There  may  be  ten  Decastros  in  the  world,  my 
dear,"  said  Lord  Budemere  to  the  countess,  "and  we 
none  the  wiser." 

"That  is  true,"  said  she,  "so  far  as  the  '  may  be' 
goes — but  my  poor  sister  (O  that  she  and  my  poor 
brother  were  living  in  this  place !) — but  my  poor  sister 
said  in  her  letter,  that  the  owner  of  this  place  was 
known  to  us — we  should  have  apartments  in  the  house 
of  a  person  that  knew  us — not  only  knew  us,  but  one 
who  had  received  civilities  from  us,  and  would  be  glad 
of  an  opportunity  to  make  us  a  return." 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  Lord  Budemere,  "and 
makes  the  thing  still  more  amazing ! " 

Now,  reader,  we  will  clap  an  ear  to  the  keyhole  of 
Sir  Harry's  door,  and  try  what  we  can  pick  up  on  that 
side — 

Sir  Harry.  What  a  detestable  thing  must  pride  be, 
when  one  cannot  even  see  it  punished  without  feeling 
gratified  at  its  agonies ! 

Lady  St.  Clair.  The  Decastros  have  but  justice; 
they  owed  the  world  a  fall ;  the  debt  is  paid ; — to  be 
sorry  when  bad  people  are  punished,  is  to  be  a  par- 
taker in  their  guilt.  The  punishment  of  the  arrogant, 
and  the  humiliation  of  the  proud  is  a  feast  for  an  angel ; 

['Si] 


W$t  tyi&totv  of  spr.  3f|ofcn  Decastro 

for  who  but  a  devil  can  be  sorry  when  justice  is  done  ? 
With  what  contempt  have  these  Decastros  looked 
down  upon  the  world,  what  equipages  have  they  kept, 
what  entertainments  have  they  given,  what  grandeur 
have  they  displayed  in  their  houses,  in  their  tables,  and 
their  amusements !  how  many  have  they  invited  to  in- 
sult them  with  their  magnificence;  how  many  have 
they  entertained  to  make  them  feel  their  inferiority ! 
It  was  a  disgrace  not  to  be  where  all  the  great  world 
was  invited,  not  to  have  one's  name  in  the  grand  cata- 
logue, and  be  able  to  talk  of  Mrs.  Decastro's  rout,  Mrs. 
Decastro's  masquerade,  Mrs.  Decastro's  breakfast,  Mrs. 
Decastro's  music — to  be  shut  out  of  her  parties,  was  to 
be  shut  out  of  heaven !  to  be  admitted  was  to  be  ad- 
mitted into  a  place  of  torment :  the  haughty  look,  the 
superior  air,  the  elevated  brow,  the  contemptuous 
smile,  the  premeditated  neglect,  the  toss  of  arrogance 
and  the  sneer  of  pride  stung  one  like  hornets,  and, 
what  was  worse,  got  at  the  tenderest  part  about  one 
too:  then  look  where  one  would,  every  object  that  took 
the  eye  brought  vexation,  as  who  should  say,  what  can 
you  do  when  compared  to  us  ?  We  were  invited  to  en- 
joy the  sunshine,  but  not  to  try  to  imitate  the  sun:  we 
were  invited  to  worship  and  welcome,  but  not  to  aspire 
to  be  divinities :  we  were  invited  to  be  shown  how  very 
little  little  things  are  when  put  by  the  side  of  great 
ones :  their  entertainments  were  so  grand  that  nothing 
was  omitted  that  could  sink  us  in  our  own  estimation — 
this  was  the  hand-writing  on  Mrs.  Decastro's  stately 
walls,  "  Thou  art  weighed  with  us  in  the  balance  and 
found  wanting." 

Sir  Harry.     I  hope  Mrs.  Decastro's  customers  will 
not  have  that  to  say  of  her  pork  and  butter. 


W$z  8?i0tot£  of  £pc,  3f|olm  HDrcastro 

Reader!  Mrs.  Perrimont  is  talking  very  much  to 
herself,  put  your  ear  a  minute  to  the  crack  of  her  door 
and  hear  her  soliloquy. 

Mrs.  Perrimont.  Well,  for  my  part,  I  always  hated 
high  noses;  there  is  no  harm  in  hating  pride,  I  sup- 
pose, for  pride  is  a  great  sin,  and  to  hate  them  that  are 
bad  is  no  mean  sign  of  one's  own  goodness,  for  he  that 
hates  the  devil  gives  good  earnest  of  not  loving  what  is 
bad.  The  Decastros  are  down  at  last,  and  I  rejoice  to 
feel  so  much  virtue  in  myself  as  to  be  glad  that  they 
are  totally  ruined !  They  are  dead  and  buried  in  a 
dirty  shop,  and  it  is  not  possible  that  they  can  rise 
again.  The  mighty  mountain  is  sunk  into  the  earth 
which  stood  between  the  sun  and  half  the  world.  It  is 
as  flat  as  flat  can  be,  that's  the  beauty  of  it !  and  I 
could  scarce  have  thought  that  I  had  such  good  prin- 
ciples in  me  as  to  feel  so  gratified  at  it — so  rejoiced — 
in  such  raptures !  How  a  lucky  hit  shows  one's  vir- 
tues ! — If  these  proud  devils  had  not  been  ruined  now, 
I  should  never  have  known  half  my  own  excellence.  I 
never  loved  wicked  people,  it  is  true,  but  I  never  could 
have  imagined  that  I  hated  them  so  cordially  as  to  be 
so  overjoyed  at  their  downfall  as  at  this  moment. 
They  have  got  a  snug  shop  though,  after  all,  and,  I 
dare  say,  serve  all  the  neighbourhood  with  pork  steaks 
and  fresh  butter :  but  come,  I  feel  that  I  have  Chris- 
tian charity  in  me  too,  I  am  glad  that  they  are  in  a  fair 
way  to  get  their  bread ;  I  have  a  feeling  heart.  Good 
heavens !  how  these  people  have  been  hated  and  wor- 
shipped, visited  and  detested,  flattered  and  admired, 
even  by  those  who,  like  me,  could  have  been  glad  to 
have  cut  their  throats!  The  justice  of  heaven  has 
managed  matters  better — to  have  knocked  them  on  the 

[i53] 


tEtje  J?i0toq?  of  m.  3|olm  wmmo 

head  with  a  couple  of  thunder-stones,  though  a  thing 
devoutly  to  be  wished,  and  a  glorious  exhibition  to  all 
the  world,  would  have  been  a  bungling  business  to 
such  a  visitation  as  this — they  might  have  been  cast 
into  hell  and  scorched  for  their  arrogance  and  pride  on 
earth,  and  none  the  wiser,  none  the  better  for  it ; — but 
now  they  are  held  up  as  an  example  in  the  very  nose 
and  eyes  of  the  world,  they  are  punished  in  the  very 
presence,  to  the  very  forehead  of  that  world  which 
their  high  and  haughty  insolence  has  disgusted  and 
offended !  Heaven  now  holds  up  their  faces  for  every 
body  to  spit  into — -holds  out  their  noses  for  every  body 
to  pull — their  flesh  to  the  spurns  and  kicks  of  every 
body  who  has  a  mind  to  lift  up  the  foot  of  indignation ! 
for  this  we  thank  thee,  O 

The  bell  now  rang  and  cut  Mrs.  Perrimont  off — aye, 
in  the  very  middle  of  her  thanksgiving. — To  proceed 
with  the  story:  the  butler  waited  at  the  foot  of  the 
grand  staircase,  and  conducted  the  Earl  and  Countess, 
Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair,  and  Madam  Perrimont 
through  the  great  saloon,  which  was  next  the  hall,  into 
the  library,  and  then  through  the  little  saloon  into  the 
crimson  drawing-room,  so  called  from  its  superb  furni- 
ture which  was  crimson  velvet  and  gold.  The  party 
followed  the  servant  in  silence — and  the  butler  might 
have  led  them  through  a  horse-pond  and  they  none  the 
wiser,  gaping  and  staring  as  they  walked  along  at  the 
variety  of  grand  things  that  shone  like  the  stars  on  all 
hands.  Two  or  three  footmen  arrayed  in  splendid 
liveries  put  them  some  chairs  ready,  and  left  them  to 
shift  for  themselves. 

When  any  thing  very  grand,  or  very  new,  or  very 
odd,  or  very  comical  comes  in  folks'  way,  they  stare 
[*54] 


Wqt  piston?  of  spr.  3flotm  EDrcastw 

first,  and  then  fall  to  talking;  this  was  just  the  case 
with  our  fine  folks  here,  who  soon  filled  the  splendid 
apartment  wherein  they  were  with  notes  of  admiration. 
Now  it  came  to  pass  in  the  very  middle  of  all  their 
wonderings  whose  this  grand  place,  and  whose  these 
grand  things  could  be,  that  the  drawing-room  door  was 
opened  on  a  sudden,  and  Mrs.  Decastro  walked  into  it 
dressed  in  a  very  elegant  manner !  The  amazement 
which  her  appearance  occasioned  could  not  have  been 
greater  if  she  had  walked  out  of  a  tomb ! 

Reader!  did  your  head  ever  run  round  upon  your 
shoulders  like  a  coach  wheel  ?  because  if  it  never  did 
you  can  have  no  idea  how  giddy  the  apparition  of  Mrs. 
Decastro  made  these  good  folks ;  and,  what  added  not 
a  little  to  the  whirlpool  in  their  brains,  Mrs.  Decastro 
had  but  that  very  moment  entered  at  one  door  when 
Mr.  Decastro  made  his  bow  at  another.  Lord  Bude- 
mere  rubbed  his  eyes,  Lady  Budemere  cried  Ha !  Sir 
Harry  felt  for  his  opera-glass,  Lady  St.  Clair  stamped 
with  her  foot,  and  Mrs.  Perrimont  was  turned  into  a 
post. 

There  was  a  deep  silence  for  two  or  three  minutes, 
notwithstanding  there  were  no  less  than  four  women  in 
the  room.  A  man  might  have  bored  a  hole  with  a  nail 
piercer  and  then  taken  a  hammer  and  driven  a  ten- 
penny  nail  into  the  body  of  any  man  or  woman  in 
Lord  Budemere's  party,  and  he  or  she  have  felt 
no  more  of  it  than  if  a  spike  had  been  hammered 
into  an  apple  tree !  There  was  no  such  thing  as 
flesh  and  blood  in  the  place,  except  what  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Decastro  had  about  them !  who  now  advanced 
to  shake  hands,  pay  the  usual  compliments  to  their 
companv,  and  restore  suspended  animation   to   these 

[i55] 


Qtt)t  tyi&tovy  of  a^r.  3|oljn  EDecastio 

bewildered   creatures,    who  were  almost   drowned   in 
astonishment. 

The  second  bell  now  rang  for  dinner,  a  charming 
piece  of  music  to  a  man  with  a  good  stomach,  when  the 
butler  came  in  and  said  that  the  dinner  was  put  upon 
the  table;  and,  taking  the  lead  to  open  the  doors, 
which  is  more  than  many  can  do  for  themselves, 
ushered  the  company  into  a  noble  dining-room  that 
glittered  with  plate  like  a  silversmith's  shop:  and  a 
very  magnificent  apartment  it  was,  lined  and  skirted  to 
the  top  with  fine  old  oak,  and  adorned  with  a  broad 
cornice  of  fruit  and  flowers,  curiously  wrought  in  the 
same  wood.  On  the  ceiling  was  painted  the  return  of 
the  Prodigal  Son,  designed  and  executed  by  the  hand 
of  some  great  master,  round  the  edges  of  which  was 
cast  a  deep  border  of  pigs  of  all  sorts,  shapes,  and  sizes, 
throwing  themselves  into  a  variety  of  frisks,  leaps, 
jumps,  sports,  attitudes,  and  gesticulations:  further- 
more in  each  of  the  four  corners  of  the  gorgeous  roof 
lay  four  old  sows  suckling  thirteen  pigs  apiece,  ex- 
tended at  their  ease  on  straws  of  gold.  The  furniture 
was  composed  of  rich  blue  silk  damasked  with  flowers, 
and  round  about  the  room  were  disposed,  with  judi- 
cious elegance,  a  profusion  of  gold,  silver,  and  costly 
china  ornaments.  The  windows  exhibited  a  grand 
sample  of  fine  old  painted  glass.  In  the  first  window 
was  painted  a  large  committee  of  hogs  holding  a  solemn 
council  of  war.  In  the  second  were  two  armies  of  swine 
drawn  up  in  battle  array.  In  the  third  the  two  armies 
were  in  the  heat  and  fury  of  an  engagement ;  number- 
less pigs  lay  stretched  out  upon  the  field  of  battle,  and 
the  blood  ran  in  streams  all  about  the  window.  In  the 
fourth  there  was  a  triumphal  procession  of  hogs,  in  the 
[<56] 


1E\)t  finstorp  of  $0u  3flot)n  ©ecastro 

midst  of  which,  mounted  on  a  car  of  victory,  rode  an 
enormous  boar  eating  a  great  carrot,  and  the  juice  run- 
ning out  of  both  corners  of  his  mouth. 

But  to  return  to  our  party :  their  eating  and  drinking 
may  be  brought  as  one  proof  of  their  coming  to  their 
senses,  doing  no  little  justice  to  Mr.  Decastro's  costly 
viands  and  delicious  wines;  which  were  so  excellent, 
and  smelled  so  sweet,  that  a  marble  statue  of  Epicurus 
ran  from  its  pedestal  and  sat  down  to  dinner  with  the 
rest  of  the  company ;  a  liberty  it  was  never  known  to 
take  before,  though  it  had  stood  in  Mr.  Decastro's  din- 
ing-room for  many  years. 

Well,  much  talk  passed,  and  many  welcomes  and 
compliments  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  and  their 
guests,  without  one  word,  at  present,  upon  the  pork- 
shop.  A  pleasant  glance  was  now  and  then  exchanged 
between  mine  host  and  mine  hostess,  but  nothing 
further,  forasmuch  as  they  merrily  lay  by  for  the  cue 
from  their  company,  who  eyed  them  quite  as  much  as 
they  peeped  and  watched  on  their  side  for  their  hearts ; 
Old  Comical  putting  in  his  nose,  at  times,  amongst  the 
servants,  who  dearly  loved  a  joke,  to  see  how  matters 
went  on. 

As  soon  as  the  dinner  was  carried  away,  for  when 
people  have  filled  themselves  as  full  as  they  can  hold, 
they  are  content  to  part  with  what  they  cannot  eat ; 
as  soon  as  the  dinner  was  carried  out,  and  the  worst 
part  of  eating  is  that  it  quite  spoils  the  appetite,  as 
soon  as  dinner  was  carried  out,  and  when  a  man  hath 
filled  his  belly  to  quarrel  and  knock  the  servants  on 
the  head  for  taking  away  what  meat  may  be  left  upon 
the  bones  were  ill  manners,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  car- 
ried out,  the  wine  and  dessert  set,  and  the  servants  all 
[i57] 


tEtje  fyittove  of  £Dr.  31otnt  SDecastuo 

gone,  curiosity  began  to  be  very  riotous  in  certain  peo- 
ple, the  ladies  especially,  when  Mrs.  Perrimont,  who 
could  hold  out  no  longer,  when  Mrs.  Perrimont,  who 
had  sat  in  a  bursting  condition  all  dinner  time,  when 
Mrs.  Perrimont,  who  really  was  in  such  distress  that 
she  fidgetted  about  on  her  chair  as  if  the  devil  was  be- 
tween her  and  her  cushion,  when  Mrs.  Perrimont,  star- 
ing at  Mrs.  Decastro,  said,  that  she  and  the  rest  of  her 
party  had  been  robbed  at  the  Park  gates ! 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  kept  fast  hold  of  their  coun- 
tenances, and  they  had  great  need,  for  if  one  muscle 
had  broken  loose  it  had  spoiled  the  jest.  "  Robbed  at 
the  Park  gates ! "  said  Mr.  Decastro.  "  Robbed  at  the 
Park  gates ! "  said  Mrs.  Decastro ;  and  both  put  a  great 
lie  into  their  faces,  for  they  made  countenance  as  if  they 
knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  matter. 

Now,  as  soon  as  Mrs.  Perrimont  had  broken  the  shell 
out  came  white  and  yolk  and  all  together — Lord  Bude- 
mere  said  he  had  been  robbed  of  more  than  all  the  rest ; 
Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair  pushed  on  after  his  lord- 
ship, and  they  all  cried  out  upon  their  losses  like — we 
must  owe  you  a  simile,  reader,  for  we  cannot,  at  present, 
find  any  noise  in  nature  at  all  equal  to  their  outcries. 

Upon  this,  videlicet,  the  great  noise — Mr.  Decastro 
held  up  his  hand  for  a  little  silence,  and  begged  his 
noble  brother,  Lord  Budemere,  would  tell  the  story  for 
all  the  rest.  Upon  which  the  peer  arose  in  a  very 
graceful  manner,  and,  stretching  forth  his  right  hand, 
which  was  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  would  make  his 
words  good  against  any  man  with  his  fist,  stretching 
forth  his  right  hand,  told  the  whole  story  of  the  pork 
and  butter  shop.  As  soon  as  the  noble  lord  had  told 
his  story,  and  shut  his  mouth  up,  to  the  truth  of  which 
[158] 


Ww  tnston?  of  spv.  31otin  Decastro 

every  body  in  his  lordship's  party  bore  ample  testi- 
mony, Mr.  Decastro  arose  in  his  turn,  and  said  they 
must  all  be  very  much  mistaken,  for  wherever  they  had 
met  with  a  shop  on  the  road  they  certainly  had  seen 
no  such  thing  at  the  park  gates. 

"  What  gates  do  you  call  those  on  the  brow  of  the 
hill,"  said  Sir  Harry, "at  fifty  yards'  distance  from  the 
ferry  ? " 

"Those  are  my  park  gates,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  De- 
castro, "  but  I  am  sure  there  is  no  such  thing  as  any 
shop  there." 

"But  I  will  bet  you  fifty  guineas,"  said  Sir  Harry  in 
haste,  "  that  there  is  a  shop  there,  and  that  pork  and 
butter,  snuff  and  tobacco,  are  sold  in  it  at  this  mo- 
ment ! " 

"There  was  a  time,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "when  I 
would  have  taken  any  bet  you  dared  to  offer — but  that 
time  is  gone  by — however,  I  do  assure  you,  upon  my 
honour,  that  there  is  no  shop  at  my  park  gates,  or  any 
house  there,  except  the  lodge  on  the  right  hand  side 
coming  to  the  castle." 

"  You  mean,"  said  Lord  Budemere,  "  a  white  stone 
building  with  gothic  windows  painted  green  ?  " 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "I  built  the  same  last 
year  at  my  park  gates." 

"And  will  you  say,"  rejoined  Sir  Harry,  "that  there 
is  no  such  thing  as  a  pork  and  butter  shop  immediately 
opposite  to  this  lodge  at  your  park  gates  ? " 

"  I  will  not  only  say  it,  but  pledge  my  honour  that 
no  such  exists  there,"  said  Mr.  Decastro;  "surely  I 
ought  to  know  what  I  have  at  my  park  gates ! " 

Upon  which  Sir  Harry  jumped  up  like  a  man  that 
had  a  devil,  and  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  and  all  his 

[159] 


tEtje  piston?  of  sspr.  3flo^n  Decastro 

party  had  not  only  seen  the  shop,  but  had  all  been  in 
it,  and  been  robbed  in  it  too,  not  more  than  an  hour 
before  dinner:  upon  this  each  person  named  the  sums 
of  money  which  had  been  taken  from  them.  Mr.  De- 
castro  then  said  that  he  had  taken  notice  of  something 
very  odd  in  the  looks  and  demeanour  of  the  whole 
party  ever  since  they  had  been  in  the  house,  and 
begged  to  know  what  wine  they  had  drank  with  their 
sandwiches  ?  Upon  which  Sir  Harry  called  aloud  for 
the  devil  to  take  him  if  he  did  not  go  that  moment  to 
the  park  gates,  and  bring  a  pound  of  pork  steaks  to 
make  his  words  good ;  and  away  he  went  like  a  man 
that  had  taken  a  dose  of  physic. 

Now  in  the  worthy  baronet's  absence  every  body 
bore  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  down,  say  what  they 
would,  that  there  certainly  was  a  pork  and  butter  shop 
at  the  park  gates,  and  urged  the  impossibility  of  so 
many  people  being  deceived  all  together.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Decastro  insisting  upon  it  that  there  was  no  such 
thing,  Lord  Budemere  begged  that  the  man  who  was 
sent  to  be  their  guide  from  Carlisle,  might  be  called  in 
to  corroborate  their  assertions. 

At  that  moment  some  one  knocked  at  the  door  with 
a  knuckle,  and,  at  a  word,  in  came  Old  Comical  himself 
with  a  letter  in  his  hand  for  Mr.  Decastro :  all  knew 
him  in  a  moment,  and  Lord  Budemere,  begging  silence, 
for  more  mouths  than  one  opened  upon  Old  Comical, 
said,  he  would  be  very  glad  to  ask  him  a  question ; 
whereupon  Old  Comical  turned  his  face  to  the  noble 
lord  in  expectation  thereof. 

"I  think,"  said  his  lordship,  "for  I  can  scarce  be 
sure  of  any  thing  to-day,  that  you  told  us  your  name 
was  John  Mathers  ? " 

[160] 


t&ty  fymovy  of  £0t.  3|o^n  ©rcastto 

"  I  did,  my  lord,"  quoth  he. 

"At  all  events,"  said  his  lordship,  "I  am  so  far 
right — pray,  Mr.  John  Mathers,  what  gates  do  you 
call  those  at  fifty  yards  distance  from  the  ferryman's 
house  ? " 

"The  park  gates,  my  lord,"  quoth  Old  Comical. 

"  Do  you  know  of  any  houses  built  at  or  near  the 
said  gates  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  lord." 

"  How  many  ?  " 

"  How  many !  "  quoth  Old  Comical ;  "  why,  there  is 
none  at  all  but  the  lodge,  that  I  know  of,  my  lord." 

"None  but  the  lodge!"  said  his  lordship;  "why  I'll 
swear  there  was  a  shop  there  when  we  came  through 
to-day,  kept  by  one  John  Decastro ;  the  man's  name, 
and  the  goods  in  which  he  deals,  were  painted  in  capi- 
tal letters  on  a  piece  of  board  half  as  broad  as  this 
table,  which  was  nailed  up  over  his  door ! " 

Old  Comical  stared  at  the  wine,  and  then  at  his  lord- 
ship, by  turns,  and  looked  like  a  man  that  had  much 
ado  to  keep  his  countenance. 

"  Why,  you  scoundrel ! "  said  Lord  Budemere  in  a 
rage,  "do  you  take  me  to  be  drunk!  I'll  swear  that 
there  was  a  shop  at  the  park  gates  this  morning ! " 

"  What  there  might  be  at  the  park  gates  this  morn- 
ing, my  lord,"  said  Old  Comical,  "  I  will  not  venture 
now  to  say,  but  I  am  just  come  through  the  park  gates 
with  this  letter,  and  I  am  sure  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  a  shop  there  now : — but  I  met  a  mad  sort  of  a  gen- 
tleman there  who  was  very  busy  in  looking  for  one,  he 
had  not  found  it,  however,  when  I  came  away." 

At  that  moment  in  came  Sir  Harry,  and  how  wise 
soever  he  might  have  looked  when  he  went  out,  he  cer- 
zx  [161] 


W$t  J?i0tovp  of  $$t.  3f]ol)tt  Drcastvo 

tainly  looked  very  much  like  a  foul  when  he  came  in 
again. 

"This  is  the  very  man,"  continued  Old  Comical; 
"well,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing  the  baronet,  "did  you 
find  the  pork  and  butter  shop  ?  I  hope  your  honour 
had  dined,  for  it  would  have  been  no  easy  matter  to 
have  got  a  pork-steak  at  the  park  gates." 

The  baronet  began  to  curse  and  to  swear,  (and  when 
a  man  is  apt  to  tell  lies  it  is  very  fit  that  he  should 
swear  to  what  he  says,)  that  the  devil  had  flown  away 
with  the  pork  shop,  for  there  was  no  such  thing  now 
to  be  found  at  the  park  gates ! — Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro 
fella-laughing;  but  Old  Comical  looked  very  grave,  and 
said,  that  the  pork  and  butter  shop  must  certainly  be  a 
second  sight,  and  something  would  happen  before  long 
at  the  park  gates.  Lord  Budemere  leaped  out  of  his 
chair,  seized  Old  Comical  by  the  collar,  and,  doubling 
his  fist  in  his  eyes,  asked  him  if  he  dared  to  deny  that 
the  whole  party  had  stopped  their  carriages,  had  got 
out,  and  went  into  a  shop  which  stood  opposite  the 
lodge  at  the  park  gates  ? " 

"It  must  be  a  much  bolder  man  than  I,"  quoth  Old 
Comical,  "  to  dare  to  deny  any  thing  while  such  a  fist 
is  held  within  an  inch  of  my  nose ;  there  was  certainly 
a  pork  and  butter  shop  at  the  park  gates  any  time  to- 
day your  lordship  pleases." 

"Take  care  what  you  say,  you  rascal,"  said  Lord 
Budemere  shaking  his  fist. 

"  I  do  take  all  the  care  I  can,"  quoth  Old  Comical, 
"and  I  were  mad  to  be  careless  at  this  awful  moment 
— but  if  your  lordship  force  me  to  say  what  you  please 
you  must  e'en  thank  yourself  if  you  get  a  lie  for  your 
pains :  a  man  were  a  fool  not  to  say  any  thing  to  save 
[162] 


Ww  J?tstorE  of  spr.  3]ol»tt  2Decastro 

his  eyes  from  being  knocked  out  of  his  head;  but  it  is 
very  hard  that  your  lordship  cannot  see  a  ghost  with- 
out making  another  man  swear  to  it ! " 

"A  ghost!  you  rascal,"  quoth  his  lordship,  "what 
ghost  ?  I  and  the  rest  of  our  party  got  out  of  our  car- 
riages, and  went  into  a  little  shop  at  the  park  gates, 
and  we  all  saw  certain  quantities  of  butter  set  ready 
for  sale  in  it,  and  a  pig  cut  into  little  bits,  and  laid  out 
in  haslets,  chops,  steaks,  and  griskins." 

"It  was  all  air,  my  lord,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "the 
butter  was  a  ghost,  and  is  melted  into  thin  air;  the 
pork-steaks,  haslets,  chops  and  griskins  all  hobgoblins 
vanished  now,  shop  and  all,  into  thin  invisible  wind. 
It  was  well  your  lordship  did  not  eat  any  thing  in  this 
shop;  what  a  terrible  thing  it  would  have  been  for 
your  lordship  to  have  had  a  ghost  in  your  belly ! — And 
who  can  tell  how  a  pig  may  choose  to  revisit  the  earth 
after  it  has  been  stuck  ?  who  can  say  that  it  may  not 
come  again  in  steaks  and  griskins?  who  can  say- 
angels  and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us  ! — who  can  say 
that  butter  may  not  rise  again  after  it  has  been  eaten, 
and  haunt  people  ?  uneasy,  perhaps,  at  being  sold  under 
weight  or  over  price — some  damned  trick  or  other  has 
been  played  at  that  part  of  the  park  where  the  gates 
now  stand:  in  ages  past,  some  sad  rogue  hath  kept  a 
shop  there  and  cheated  people  in  former  times,  de- 
pend upon  it,  my  lord — and  that  accounts  for  the 
whole  shop  and  all  the  stock  in  trade  appearing  to 
your  lordship." 

"  What  sad  rogue  may  have  kept  a  shop  there  in 
ages  past  I  will  not  say,"  quoth  his  lordship ;  "but  this 
I  will  say,  that  some  sad  rogue  kept  a  shop  there  this 
morning  and  robbed  our  party  of  the  best  part  of  an 

[*63] 


W$t  $?t0ton?  of  $>r.  31otm  ©ftastro 

hundred  pounds  amongst  us,  and  the  matter  shall  be 
looked  into  before  we  leave  this  part  of  the  world." 

"  Your  lordship  must  have  bought  a  great  deal  of 
pork  and  butter,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  to  come  to  so 
much  money,  I  can't  think  what  you  will  do  with  it  all ! 
you  can  never  eat  it  while  it  is  good." 

"Pork  and  butter!"  said  his  lordship;  "we  parted 
with  our  money  and  have  got  nothing  but  our  fools' 
heads  to  show  for  it !  " 

"What!"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "did  your  lordship 
give  away  your  money  to  a  spectre?  What  can  a 
ghost  want  money  for  ?  He  neither  eats  nor  drinks, 
wears  out  no  stockings,  shoes,  or  breeches ;  comes  into 
people's  houses  and  never  pays  any  rent, — then,  unless 
he  is  taxed,  what  the  devil  can  a  ghost  want  money 
for  ?  A  ghost  may  go  out  of  the  world  without  paying 
his  bills,  but  when  he  has  once  got  clear  off  and  out  of 
the  reach  of  bailiffs,  constables,  writs  and  executions, 
he  must  needs  be  a  very  foolish  apparition  to  come 
poking  his  nose  into  the  world  again  to  cheat  folks  out 
of  more  money,  and  rob  Peter  to  pay  Paul :  besides,  if 
he  leaves  the  key  of  the  cupboard  behind  him,  let  those 
that  come  in  for  the  bread  and  cheese  and  his  clothes 
pay  his  debts — it  is  amazing  that  such  trifles  as  these 
should  ever  disturb  folks  in  their  graves  that  never  dis- 
turbed them  in  their  beds !  Ghosts  that  have  had  their 
throats  cut  have  felt  sore  enough  upon  it,  folks  say,  to 
come  back  again  to  tell  the  news ;  and  some  that  have 
buried  pots  of  money,  and  the  heels  of  old  stockings 
full  of  guineas,  have  risen  again  to  serve  an  old  ac- 
quaintance, and  give  another,  with  vast  generosity, 
what  they  have  no  further  use  for  themselves — but 
that  a  couple  of  hobgoblins  should  take  it  into  their 
[164] 


tEljf  li;istoi*v  of  $$t,  3f|ol)n  tDrrastio 

heads  to  come  upon  the  earth,  build  a  shop,  stock  the 
same,  and  fall  to  selling  people  pork  and  butter — ' 

"You  chattering  rascal,"  quoth  his  lordship,  "we 
have  been  played  a  trick,  and  you  are  quite  the  sort  of 
fellow,  with  the  devil's  help,  to  have  a  hand  in  it ; — but, 
upon  recollection,  madam,"  said  he  to  Mrs.  Decastro, 
"  I  have  a  letter  here,  which  my  lady  received  a  few 
weeks  since,  by  the  complexion  of  which  we  might 
very  well  expect  to  find  you  and  my  good  brother  in 
the  very  situation  in  which  we  saw  you,  sir,  and  you, 
madam,  or  two  folks  very  much  like  you,  at  a  little 
house  in  the  corner  of  the  park." 

"I  wonder,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "folks  can  be  so  in- 
decent as  not  to  shut  the  door  when  they  go  to  such 
places ! "  upon  which  he  fell  into  a  loud  laugh ;  when 
Lord  Budemere  immediately  seized  him  by  the  collar, 
and,  setting  his  foot  upon  what  follows  a  man  of  con- 
sequence, kicked  him  out  of  the  room.  Now  a  man 
cannot  go  out  of  an  apartment  with  more  pleasure  to 
himself,  or  entertainment  to  others,  than  when  he  is 
kicked  out  of  it,  and  that  for  reasons  too  obvious  to 
need  any  mention  in  this  place. 

"This  is  an  amazing  long  chapter !  " 

Very  well,  reader — make  a  mark  with  your  thumb- 
nail, and  put  the  book  down  if  you  want  wind — or,  if 
you  please,  madam,  you  may  lay  your  leg  in  the  book 
to  keep  your  place,  and  put  the  volume  upon  the  man- 
tlepiece,  there's  no  great  difficulty  in  that. 

During  the  aforesaid  operation,  we  mean  the  kicking 
poor  Old  Comical  out  of  the  room,  and  none  surely 
can  be  so  unfeeling  at  the  bottom  as  not  to  sympathize 
with  what  he  felt  in  it — the  antecedent  to  the  relative 
"  it,"  fair  reader,  is  not  bottom,  as  you  modestly  sup- 


Wyt  tetorp  of  99r.  3loljn  Decastro 

pose,  but  operation :— when  you  can  pick  your  way  you 
must  step  slap  into  the  dirt  to  choose! — during  the 
aforesaid  operation,  Lady  Budemere  had  put  a  few  odd 
questions  to  Mrs.  Decastro  concerning  a  certain  epis- 
tle, which  were  put  with  such  consummate  art  as  to 
make  a  sort  of  double  shot  of  it,  with  a  sly  aim  at  Mr. 
as  well  as  Mrs.  Decastro,  as  who  should  say  either 
may  answer  me  that  pleases.  Mr.  Decastro,  therefore, 
arose,  and  addressing  his  lady,  who  sat  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table,  spake  as  followeth :  viz.,  Mr.  Decastro's 
mouth  is  open  we  know,  but,  before  any  thing  comes 
out  at  it,  we  must  beg  leave  to  speak  a  few  words  our- 
selves— "  Mrs.  Decastro  who  sat  at  the  other  end  of 
the  table  "— 

Scholium. 
A  very  good  way  to  keep  man  and  wife  apart,  they 
may  quarrel,  and  they  may  pelt  one  another  with  pota- 
toes, but  as  long  as  there  are  eight  or  ten  feet  of  stout 
mahogany  between  them  they  cannot  get  at  one  an- 
other, to  come  to  fighting  before  company. — But  we 
must  not  forget  that  we  left  Mr.  Decastro  with  his 
mouth  open,  who,  from  the  aforesaid  porthole  of  the 
brains,  discharged  the  following  words — 

Viz. 

"  My  dear,"  quoth  the  loving  gentleman,  addressing 
his  matter  to  his  wife,  "my  dear,"  said  he,  for  it  may 
be  remembered  how  apt  he  was  to  drop  a  drop  of 
sweet-oil  in  her  ear,  "my  dear,"  said  he,  though  some 
husbands  say,  "Take  that,  my  dear,"  and  give  their 
wives  a  good  knock  on  the  head ;  but  he  said,  that  is 
to  say,  Mr.  Decastro  said,  "  my  dear,"  with  a  drop  of 
honey  hanging  at  the  end  of  his  tongue;  "my  dear," 
[166] 


tElje  ioistovv  of  Sl3t\  J\o\)n  Decastro 

said  he,  not  calling  her  dear  because  he  had  given 
more  than  she  were  worth  for  her,  as  a  man  may  say 
of  a  wife  bought  for  twenty  pence  and  a  quart  of  gin  at 
Smithfield,  with  a  halter  round  her  neck;  "my  dear," 
said  he,  not  meaning  to  call  her  a  drunken  extravagant 
toad,  that  scored  him  up  for  brandy,  ale,  and  bitters, 
perkin,  perry,  rum,  and  the  queen' s-water,  at  every  ale- 
house that  she  got  smell  of — no — "  my  dear,"  said  he, 
that  is  to  say,  he  did  not  say  what  he  never  said — don't 
be  in  such  a  devil  of  a  hurry,  reader,  we  shall  come  to 
Mr.  Decastro's  speech  in  the  course  of  half  a  score 
pages — "my  dear,"  said  he,  stretching  out  his  hand  as 
if  to  catch  her  by  the  nose — the  nose !  yes,  the  nose ; 
what  should  a  man  catch  his  wife  by  ?  what  catches 
one's  attention  sooner  than  a  pull  by  the  nose  ?  drag  a 
man  by  the  nose,  and  five  times  out  of  fifty  you  will 
draw  his  attention:  adsbobs  !  one's  wits  must  be  gone 
a  wool-gathering  indeed,  if  a  man  hath  one's  nose  in  his 
hand  or  a  pair  of  tongs,  and  we  none  the  wiser !  If  any 
lady  or  gentleman  cannot  smell  such  a  thing  as  that 
they  can  smell  nothing :  to  fire  off  a  gun  we  must  pull 
it  by  the  trigger ;  to  fire  off  a  man  we  must  pull  him 
by  the  nose: — that's  nothing  to  the  purpose  at  all: 
yes,  but  it  is  though,  and  for  this  very  reason,  for  the 
nearest  way  from  London  to  St.  Alban's  lies  directly 
through  Hounslow. — -"My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
stretching  forth  his  hand,  as  if  to  catch  her  by  the 
nose,  "  how  glad  shall  we  make  the  hearts  of  our  kind 
friends  that  sit  round  our  table,  when  we  tell  them  all 
the  good  news  of  this  our  fortunate  situation!  when 
we  tell  them  how  well  we  have  sold  our  butter,  and  to 
what  a  good  market  we  have  brought  all  our  pigs !  how 
all  the  old  women  brought  their  snuff-boxes  to  our 
[167] 


(£l)e  tyi&toty  of  tyt,  violin  SDcrastro 

shop  for  snuff,  and  how  not  a  pipe  was  filled  for  ten 
miles  round  but  by  the  genuine  tobacco  sold  retail  by 
John  Decastro !  But  having  scraped  together  a  little 
money  by  honest  industry,  and  put  by  a  little  bit  of 
bread  for  our  old  age,  having  got  a  good  house  over 
our  heads,  and  laid  the  crumbs  of  comfort  about  us, 
will  not  our  kind  friends  join  us  in  an  opinion  that  it 
is  now  high  time  to  leave  off  business,  and  resign  to 
some  other  the  good-will  of  the  pork  and  butter  shop  ? " 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  were  certainly  young  people 
when  this  pretty  comedy  was  acted,  and,  though  some 
may  think  that  it  might  have  made  more  for  their  repu- 
tation if  it  had  been  passed  over  altogether  in  silence  by 
the  historian,  it  may,  however,  be  submitted  that,  tri- 
fling as  it  may  appear  in  the  eyes  of  Sir  Isaac  Solomon, 
the  malevolent  pride  and  envy  of  some  folks  concerned 
in  it  met  with  a  very  seasonable  rebuke  in  the  exhibi- 
tion of  it.  Now  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  poisonous  of 
the  ill  humours  that  ebb  and  flow  in  the  human  heart, 
the  malice  it  feels  at  the  good  estate  of  another,  and 
the  delight  to  see  a  poor  man  gnaw  a  dirty  bone  like  a 
beggar's  dog  upon  a  dunghill,  rather  than  smack  his 
lips  over  a  slice  of  venison  swimming  upon  a  silver 
plate  in  sweet  sauce  and  rich  gravy.  Some  of  these 
fine  folks  came  into  Mr.  Decastro's  gorgeous  old  Cas- 
tle as  the  devil  came  into  Paradise,  whose  rage,  like  old 
Satan's,  was  aggravated  in  proportion  to  the  good 
things  which  they  found  in  it.  Old  Crab  was  not  in- 
vited to  this  pleasant  comedy,  for,  as  soon  as  he  got 
well  of  his  fever,  he  engaged  himself  with  that  eager- 
ness which  he  always  felt  in  another's  service,  in  the 
affairs  of  his  noble  brother-in-law.  Good  night  t'ye, 
reader,  you  look  sleepy. 

[168] 


CHAPTER   XIII 

Lord  and  Lady  Budemere,  Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair,  and 
Madam  Perrimont  leave  Oaken  Grove — A  little  Touch 
upon  what  befel  before  they  turned  the  Part  which  is  not 
before  upon  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro. 

We  hope  you  slept  well  last  night,  reader,  and  that 
your  wife,  sir,  or  your  husband,  madam,  did  not  kick 
and  sprawl  about  the  bed,  as  the  manner  of  some  is, 
who  go  to  sleep  with  their  heads  on  the  pillow  and 
wake  with  their  feet  there,  which  is  inconvenient :  it 
puts  us  in  mind  of  a  story,  however. — Once  upon  a 
time  there  lived  an  old  maid  named  Madam  Stickle- 
back, very  lean,  and  at  fifty  years  of  age  what  flesh  she 
had  was  all  turned  into  horn,  which  made  her  so  very 
stiff  that  she  had  a  hard  matter  to  sit  down,  and,  when 
once  down,  she  had  as  hard  a  matter  to  get  up  again 
and  straiten  herself,  so  that  her  sitting  down  and  her 
uprising,  she  moved  so  stiff  in  the  hinges,  cost  her  ten 
minutes  each.  Now  it  came  to  pass  that  Madam 
Stickleback,  who  was  very  regular  in  all  her  motions, 
turned  round  in  her  bed  like  the  hand  of  a  clock.  She 
never  rolled  over  bottom  upwards  or  face  downwards, 
no,  she  always  lay  flat  upon  her  back  in  the  very  cen- 
tre of  a  bed,  which  she  had"  been  measured  for,  and 
had  made  six  feet  by  six,  being  the  precise  length  of 
Madam  Stickleback's  body ;  in  the  very  centre  of  which 
Madam  Stickleback  lay  as  aforesaid,  and  turned  round 
in  it  like  the  stiff  hand  of  an  old-fashioned  church  clock 
[169] 


Htyt  5?i0torp  of  i$)r,  3fiot)n  £t>era*tro 

which  turns  upon  a  pivot  stuck  through  the  middle  of 
it,  aye  turned  round  in  it  just  as  if  Madam  Stickle- 
back's body  moved  upon  a  gudgeon  and  pintle  exactly 
in  the  middle  of  her  bed.  Now  it  came  to  pass  further- 
more that  the  said  Madam  Stickleback  was  whimsical, 
and  she  had  the  twelve  hours  duly  and  at  equal  spaces 
marked  in  black  ink  upon  her  sheet,  and  she  began 
with  her  pillow-bier,  forsooth,  upon  which  was  put  the 
number  12,  at  which  hour  she  always  laid  her  head 
down  to  rest.  How  regular  Madam  Stickleback  was 
in  all  her  motions,  sleeping  as  well  as  waking,  will  now 
be  seen :  as  soon  as  she  fell  asleep  Madam  Stickleback 
began  to  move,  and  in  one  hour's  time  her  head  came 
to  one  and  her  feet  to  seven,  when  Madam  Stickleback 
gave  a  grunt,  as  much  as  to  say  it  is  one  o'clock.  In 
another  hour's  time  Madam  Stickleback's  head  came 
to  two  and  her  feet  pointed  at  eight,  when  she  gave 
two  grunts,  as  who  should  say  it  is  two  o'clock.  When 
Madam  Stickleback's  head  came  to  three  her  feet 
pointed  at  nine,  when  she  gave  three  grunts,  which 
was  as  much  as  to  say  it  is  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing. When  Madam  Stickleback's  head  came  to  four 
she  uttered  four  grunts  to  give  notice  it  was  four 
o'clock,  and  so  on :  but  not  to  strike  Madam  Stickle- 
back all  round,  if  a  man  had  come  in  at  any  hour,  and 
looked  at  the  position  of  Madam  Stickleback's  body, 
he  might  have  set  his  watch  by  her,  or,  if  he  had  had 
her  at  sea  he  might  have  determined  the  longitude 
by  the  old  virgin  with  as  much  precision  as  by  Mr. 
John  Harrison's  chronometer.  To  finish  our  story, 
reader,  Madam  Stickleback,  after  a  regular  series  of 
motions,  and  a  regular  number  of  grunts,  Madam 
Stickleback  returned  her  head  to  her  pillow,  and 
[170] 


®\)t  Otston?  of  $9r,  31ol)n  SDecastt'o 

grunting  twelve  times,  rang  her  bell  and  called  for 
the  cherry-brandy  bottle,  forasmuch  as  she  then 
wanted  winding  up. 

Now,  reader,  if  your  stomach  serves  for  it,  we  will 
return  to  Mr.  Decastro's  dining-room,  where  we  shall 
find  plenty  of  Burgundy  and  claret,  and  a  grand  dessert 
set  out  in  baskets  of  silver  to  the  no  little  mortification 
of  his  noble  guests,  who  daubed  their  faces  with  the 
sweetest  smiles  to  hide  the  bitterness  of  their  hearts. 
There  was  a  sting  in  the  tail  of  this  trick  of  the  pork- 
shop,  which  made  a  wound  like  a  wasp,  and  injected 
poison  into  it  at  the  same  time :  Mr.  Decastro's  shining 
the  more  brightly  in  proportion  as  his  shining  was  the 
less  expected,  stung  their  souls ;  and  their  envious  mo- 
mentary triumph  over  the  degraded  shopkeepers,  re- 
coiled upon  them  in  proportion  to  the  malice  with 
which  their  souls  were  charged :  but  the  kindhearted 
countess  must  be  put  down  as  an  exception,  who  re- 
tired to  her  carriage  in  tears  as  soon  as  she  saw  the 
wretched  situation  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro:  now  it 
was  her  turn  to  rejoice,  and  her  joy  was  worth  fifty 
times  the  joy  of  the  others. 

Lady  St.  Clair  felt  more  vexed  than  any,  as  it  was 
her  due,  for  she  had  been  the  most  saucy.  Lord  Bude- 
mere  was  vexed  too,  but  pleased  at  the  same  time: 
how  could  that  be  ?  why,  reader,  he  was  vexed  to  find 
that  his  brother-in-law  had  still  more  shining  stuff 
about  him  than  he  whose  title  was  greater,  but  whose 
income  was  now  like  to  be  less;  and  pleased  to  find 
that  Mr.  Decastro  was  not  like  to  quarter  the  pork- 
griskin  with  the  family  arms :  but  in  each  of  the  hearts 
of  the  three  others  there  was  a  devil's  nest  where  the 
furious  young  harpies  tore  away  the  vitals  with  beak 


Wt)t  $?i$tor?  of  $$)r.  ]f|of)n  SDccastro 

and  talons,  and  made  a  worse  stir  about  than  the  vul- 
ture did  in  the  liver  of  old  Prometheus. 

"Brother  Decastro,"  said  the  earl,  "how  the  devil 
came  all  these  things  to  pass  ?  I  am  in  such  amaze- 
ment that  I  scarce  know  where  I  am,  I  feel  like  one 
enchanted ! " 

"Why,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "you  are  not, 
nor  can  be,  in  greater  amazement  than  I  was:  my 
brother  Bat  has  done  wonders  for  me,  and  made  me  in 
every  way  a  better  man  than  ever  I  was  in  my  life." 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  baronet,  "has  Old  Crab 
done  all  these  things  ?  why,  it  was  said  in  town  he 
could  scarce  find  five  shillings  in  the  pound  for  your 
creditors !  The  devil  take  Old  Crab,  I  say,  for  telling 
such  lies! " 

"  Come,  come,  Sir  Harry,"  quoth  Mr.  Decastro,  "  I 
will  not  have  my  brother  Bat  abused ;  and  as  for  lies, 
others  may  tell  lies  for  him,  but  I  am  sure  he  never 
told  any  himself:  brother  Bat  has  a  rugged  outside, 
but  a  good  and  valuable  heart,  which  lies  in  him  like 
the  pearl  in  the  rough  sea-shell.  He  spares  no  pains  to 
serve  a  man,  and  will  take  nothing  for  his  pains  when 
he  has  done :  some  work  the  harder  the  better  they 
are  paid.  Brother  Bat  will  work  the  harder  the  less  he 
gets  for  his  labour;  he  will  take  pay  at  no  man's 
hands:  he  refused  all  I  could  offer  for  what  he  has 
done  for  me. — Brother  Bat,  said  I,  I  will  take  no  more 
rent  for  the  farm  which  you  hold  of  me :  then  you  may 
take  your  farm,  brother,  said  he,  and  hang  it  about 
your  neck,  and  I'll  go  and  rent  another  man's  land : 
what  the  plague  d'ye  take  me  for,  John  ?  His  lease 
fell  in  with  several  others,  when  he  raised  his  own 
farm  in  proportion  to  all  the  rest — this,  by  the  by,  was 
[172] 


tEtje  distort?  of  £0r.  Jioljn  SDetastro 

a  piece  of  good  fortune  for  me  and  gave  my  brother 
an  opportunity  to  put  a  vast  addition  to  my  income — 
Brother  Bat,  said  I,  I  will  take  none  but  the  old  rent 
from  you — it  was  in  vain — he  paid  the  advanced  rent 
into  my  banker's  hands — Brother  John,  he  replied,  I 
have  laid  by  a  little  money  for  my  young  wench  out  of 
your  land — and  a  little  money  for  my  wife  and  myself 
against  a  bad  year — I  am  content,  and  I  heartily  thank 
God  for  his  goodness.  He  would  take  nothing  but  my 
thanks  for  all  his  services,  and  said,  you  are  now  clear 
of  all  the  world,  John,  it  cannot  call  upon  you  for  one 
farthing— a  word  in  your  ear — 'Take  heed.'  " 

"  Clear  of  the  world ! "  said  the  earl ;  "  why  how 
came  you  to  get  clear  of  the  world,  and  not  only  that, 
but  find  such  a  splendid  balance  to  live  on,  when  your 
wife  told  Lady  Budemere  that  if  your  estates  were 
multiplied  by  I  know  not  what,  they  would  all  come 
but  as  dust  into  the  scale  against  the  weight  of  your 
debts  ? " 

"Why  I  am  ashamed,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "to  tell 
you  the  truth,  though  it  were  well  if  I  had  no  greater 
cause  for  shame;  my  wife  and  I  must  needs  fall  to 
summing,  of  all  things  in  the  world,  take  it  into  our 
wise  heads  to  cast  up  the  bills,  and  a  glorious  cast  we 
made  of  it,  but  we  were  willing  to  owe  enough,  at  all 
events,  for  we  made  it  out  that  we  owed  money  enough 
to  ruin  old  Croesus.  I  thought  it  best  to  take  horse 
while  I  had  one  in  the  stable,  and  rode  away  from 
London  as  if  all  London  had  been  at  my  heels,  and  ran 
for  shelter  into  the  north.  If  a  man  is  like  to  come 
into  large  possessions,  nine  times  in  ten  he  is  bred  a 
dunce,  when  the  more  property  a  man  is  like  to  have, 
the  more  pains  should  be  taken  to  teach  him  how  to 

[173] 


W$t  Jjtatorp  of  $)r.  31ot)n  SDecastro 

take  care  of  it.  The  less  a  man  knows  the  wiser  he  is 
sure  to  think  himself,  which  is  one  of  the  greatest  mis- 
fortunes of  ignorance ;  I  must  needs  think  so,  and  got 
terribly  frightened  for  my  pains :  my  brother  let  me 
alone  in  order  to  bring  my  blunders  to  a  good  account, 
I  set  myself  down  for  a  ruined  man  upon  my  own 
knowledge,  and  my  alarms,  as  it  happened,  have  been 
of  great  use  to  me.  When  my  brother  opened  my 
eyes,  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  this,  viz.,  that  I  was  a 
great  fool.  Now  you  cannot  do  a  fool  a  greater  piece  of 
service  than  convince  him  that  he  is  one,  which,  indeed, 
is  no  easy  matter — the  thing  was  done  in  my  case,  how- 
ever, and  the  first  wise  thing  I  did  was  to  take  a  step 
towards  getting  wise.  I  had  luck  on  my  side,  for  my 
brother  was  at  hand,  who  was  able  to  instruct  me,  and 
I  soon  began  to  find  that  the  best  thing  I  ever  did  in 
my  life  was  to  take  a  few  lessons  of  him :  finding  me 
apt  to  learn,  he  told  me,  by  way  of  encouragement, 
that,  by  the  help  of  some  old  leases  falling  in,  my  in- 
come, instead  of  being  less  than  it  was,  would  be  more 
than  it  used  to  be,  and  that  he  could  put  me  and  my 
family  into  the  old  castle,  where  he  advised  me  to  live, 
and  I  most  certainly  will  do  so,  in  a  manner  quite  suit- 
able to  the  dignity  of  my  ancestors." 

"  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  this,"  said  Lord  Budemere, 
"  but  cannot  forgive  you,  sir,  for  keeping  your  friends 
in  the  south  so  totally  in  the  dark  in  this  matter." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  lord,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
"  I  do  not  think  I  left  many  there  who  would  not  have 
been  more  vexed  than  pleased  at  the  news  of  my  good 
fortune,  so  to  keep  them  in  the  dark  was  to  do  them  a 
kindness,  who  had  set  me  to  stick  pigs  and  my  wife  to 
sell  butter." 

[i74] 


1&\)t  I?i0toti>  of  spr.  3|ot)n  SDrcastro 

"The  devil  stake  me,  Decastro,"  said  Sir  Harry, 
"but  this  was  an  abominable  trick,  and  I  can  scarce 
forgive  you  for  it — but  what  the  devil  became  of  your 
pork  shop  ? " 

Mr.  Decastro  laughed,  and  said  that  he  ordered  his 
people  to  take  it  away  and  share  the  contents  amongst 
them  as  soon  as  he  came  out  of  it. 

"Well,  but  my  good  brother,"  said  Lord  Budemere, 
"  I  cannot  suffer  such  a  thing  to  be  said  of  your  friends 
without  reverting  to  it,  and  speaking  a  word  in  their 
behalf." 

"The  less  you  say,  my  lord,  the  better,"  replied  Mr. 
Decastro,  "of  those  whom  you  please  to  call  my 
friends,  and  you  will  best  consult  both  their  ease  and 
their  credit,  when  you  return  into  the  south,  by  not 
undeceiving  them  in  regard  to  my  matters: — I  have 
been  much  to  blame,  I  entertained  them  too  hand- 
somely not  to  get  their  hatred  for  outshining  them, 
and  I  could  not  so  much  as  do  one  civil  thing  at  last, 
but  it  was  set  down  to  my  pride  rather  than  to  my 
good  nature ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  it  is  my  firm 
belief  that  most  of  those,  whom  your  lordship  calls  my 
friends,  would  be  more  gratified  in  seeing  me  sell  pork 
by  the  pound,  than  thus  entertaining  my  friends  with 
venison  and  claret.  I  come  no  more  among  such 
whom  I  have  no  mind  to  please  so  much  at  my  own 
expense ;  one  way,  however,  I  am  like  to  gratify  these 
my  good  friends,  I  shall  vex  them  no  more  with  my 
fine  parties  and  grand  entertainments;  my  wife,  in- 
deed, may  do  as  she  pleases,  but  these  dregs  have  long 
since  subsided  in  me." 

"Well,  but  devil  take  it,  Decastro,"  said  Sir  Harry, 
"you  mean  to  come  amongst  us  again?  You  must 
[i75] 


W$t  Jjistoi't!  of  tyt.  3]oljn  SDeeastro 

meet  us  at  the  old  places  and  laugh  at  the  hoax  of  the 
pork  shop !  You  will  not  spend  all  your  days  in  this 
odd  corner  of  the  world  amidst  woods  and  waters? 
Remember  you  have  left  an  ill  vapour  behind  you, 
come  forth  and  shine  again,  and  dispel,  like  the  sun, 
the  fog  that  hangs  upon  your  name — come  out  of  your 
hole  and  join  us  next  season  in  town." 

"You  will  not  see  my  face  again  in  London,  Sir 
Harry,"  said  Mr.  Decastro.— The  baronet  making  a 
countenance  of  surprise — "  You  may  stare,  sir,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  but  I  come  no  more  amongst  ye,  nor  into 
a  place  that  I  cannot  think  on  without  regret." 

"  Pshaw,"  quoth  Sir  Harry,  "  you  will  stay  here  and 
get  pickled  in  Old  Crab's  vinegar — why,  man,  the  folks 
in  town  will  be  as  glad  to  see  you  in  it  as  ever." 

"And  as  glad  to  see  me  ruined  in  it  as  ever,"  said 
Mr.  Decastro,  "  but  they  are  like  to  meet  with  no  such 
sport,  and  so  you  may  tell  them,  Sir  Harry." 

"Why,"  said  the  baronet,  "you  don't  mean  to  stay 
here  and  turn  hermit  ?  give  us  a  little  of  your  company 
in  the  winter,  and  then  to  the  castle  with  a  roaring 
party  for  the  summer  months."  Upon  which  Mr.  De- 
castro putting  on  a  grave  face — "  Devil  take  me,"  con- 
tinued the  pleasant  baronet,  "  if  he  does  not  look  like 
a  hermit  already,  but  he  shaves,  and  that's  a  fault ! 
You  have  got  some  good  Burgundy  here,  Decastro," 
added  he,  swallowing  a  bumper  and  smacking  his  lips. 

"The  baronet  is  very  merry,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
"  but  I  have  no  mind  to  commence  savage  after  all ; 
I  beg  to  say  that  I  have  not  run  out  of  the  world  so 
much  because  I  hated  it,  but  because  I  was  too  fond  of 
it  to  be  safe  in  it:  no,  St.  Clair,  I  do  not  altogether 
hate  it,  but  lest  I  should  see  enough  of  it  to  make  me 
[i?6] 


1&\)t  piston?  of  09r.  jfiolm  SDecafitro 

hate  it  I  made  my  escape  before  my  good  opinion  of  it 
were  quite  worn  out ;  and  hope  you  will  allow  me  to 
put  it  as  no  ill  proof  of  my  good  temper  to  have  lived 
so  long  in  it  and  not  hated  it." 

"  By  heaven ! "  said  the  baronet,  "  this  is  a  drop  of 
Old  Crab's  verjuice !  " 

"Come,  Sir  Harry,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "I  will  not 
have  Old  Crab,  as  you  call  him,  abused,  I  owe  a  great 
deal  to  his  good  care  of  me,  and  if  I  have  found  one 
friend  in  the  world  brother  Bat  is  the  man." 

"A  man!"  quoth  the  baronet;  " dame  Nature  was 
in  a  devilish  cross  humour  when  she  put  him  on  the 
stocks !  And  she  is  a  comical  toad  when  she  takes  it 
into  her  head ;  here's  a  link  between  the  birds  and  the 
fishes  in  one  place,  and  there's  a  link  between  the 
plants  and  the  animals  in  another ;  there's  a  link  be- 
tween the  vegetables  and  minerals  in  a  third ;  but  when 
goody  Nature  formed  Old  Crab  there  she  made  a 
fourth  link  between  a  man  and  a  bear."  * 

The  ladies,  who  had  some  time  since  retired  to  the 
drawing-room,  now  sent  for  the  gentlemen,  but  Lord 
Budemere  and  the  baronet  could  scarce  be  persuaded 
to  exchange  the  Burgundy  and  claret  for  tea  and  coffee, 
liquors  much  less  to  their  taste — they  walked  into  the 
drawing-room,  however,  after  a  few  more  glasses,  and 
what  came  to  pass  therein  we  now  proceed  to  say. 

Now  it  so  befel  that  Mr.  Decastro  walked  first  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  this  to  show  his  guests  the  way, 
not  because  they  were  drunk,  but  because  they  had 
never  walked  into  his  drawing-room  before,  which  was 
one  reason  why  they  did  not  know  it — upon  this  their 

*  A  curious  verbal  anticipation  of  Darwin,  and  of  the  so- 
called  missing  link. — Editor' s  Note. 

12  [177] 


t£t>e  iQistot])  of  $$t,  3|otm  Wttamo 

walk  to  the  apartment  of  the  ladies,  Lord  Budemere 
touched  the  baronet  upon  the  shoulder  and  said  in  a 
whisper,  "  I  wonder  very  much,  St.  Clair,  what  is  be- 
come of  our  money  ?  " 

The  baronet,  who  very  well  knew  that  it  was  much 
the  way  of  money  as  it  is  of  a  wild  bird,  never  to  return 
to  a  man's  hand  after  it  hath  once  flown  out  of  it,  said, 
"  Upon  my  soul  I  had  almost  forgot  it,  my  lord,  let  us 
drop  a  little  hint  about  it  presently." 

"A  hint!"  said  the  earl,  "I  will  make  no  hint  of 
the  matter;  I  will  ask  for  it,  I  assure  you,  before  I 
leave  the  house :  I  have  as  little  to  spare  as  any  man — 
money  is  money  to  me — I  never  was  so  much  out  of 
feather  in  my  life;  or,  upon  my  soul,  St.  Clair,  I  would 
have  settled  my  Newmarket  bets  with  you  before  this 
time :  if  Old  Crab  will  but  do  half  as  much  for  me  as 
he  has  done  for  Decastro,  I  shall  soon  get  all  my  debts 
off  my  hands." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Budemere,"  said  Sir  Harry,  "  I  am 
not  a  little  surprised  at  his  undertaking  your  matters 
after  the  discovery  you  told  me  of." 

"This  comes  of  hoarding  up  old  letters,  Sir  Harry," 
replied  his  lordship;  "  the  matter  was  this — Old  Crab 
opposed  the  match  between  me  and  his  sister  Miss 
Decastro;  and,  setting  me  down  for  a  rascal,  came  to 
a  quarrel  with  his  father  upon  not  securing  her  fortune 
to  her  uses ;  I,  not  a  little  enraged  at  this,  wanting,  as 
I  did,  a  supply  of  ready  cash  at  that  time,  made  matters 
as  bad  as  I  could  between  him  and  his  father,  and 
spurred  him  into  such  a  fury  against  his  son,  that,  to 
make  me  amends,  he  disinherited  Old  Crab:  most  of 
this  business  was  unluckily  managed  between  the  old 
gentleman  and  me  by  letter;  and  Old  Crab,  looking 
[178] 


Ctjr  tnstory  of  *$r.  3]otm  Drcastro 

over  Decastro's  papers  when  he  settled  his  affairs  for 
him,  in  an  evil  hour  found  the  whole  correspondence." 

"This  was  the  devil!"  said  Sir  Harry,  "but  how 
could  you  excuse  yourself  ?  " 

"  Why,"  replied  the  earl,  "  I  was  struck  dumb  for  a 
time;  I  took  my  pen,  however,  and  wrote  the  best 
apology  I  could,  and  have  not  seen  Old  Crab  since : 
when  we  meet  I  am  afraid  I  shall  look  like  the  greatest 
fool  of  the  two." 

They  now  walked  into  the  drawing-room,  and  what 
was  very  extraordinary,  they  did  not  find  the  ladies 
silent  in  it. — How  so  ?  surely  the  wonder  lies  all  on  the 
other  side;  it  lies  in  no  such  place,  reader,  for  who 
could  have  thought  they  had  not  talked  themselves 
presently  to  death,  having  so  much  matter  as  they  had 
to  talk  upon  ?— Now  some  folks  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
say  that  a  woman  does  not  talk  after  she  is  dead,  if 
any  please  to  believe  it ;  it  may  be  doubtful ;  we,  how- 
ever, have  our  reasons  for  not  thinking  it  is  an  impos- 
sibility :  but  as  papers,  pens  and  ink  would  fail  us  if  we 
put  down  one-tenth  of  all  the  ladies  said,  we  will  pick 
a  few  choice  flowers  only,  of  rhetoric  we  mean,  not  to 
get  our  brains  turned  with  the  metaphor,  for  meta- 
phors are  apt  to  addle  men's  brains,  and,  though  it  be 
a  great  truth  that  no  lady  from  the  beginning  of  ladies 
down  to  the  last  new  petticoat,  ever  said  a  foolish 
thing,  forasmuch  as  it  is  the  prerogative  of  the  men  to 
keep  all  the  silly  things  to  themselves — except  what 
they  print— where  the  devil  are  we  got  ? 

One  moment,  reader,  let  us  step  back  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  sentence  to  see  how  we  set  out,  and  what 
it  was  that  we  were  talking  about — why  should  an  au- 
thor know  what  he  is  talking  about  ?  it  is  the  proper 
[i79] 


<£^e  history  of  tyt.  3flotm  E>ecastt:o 

business  of  the  reader  to  find  all  that  out ;  the  author 
has  nothing  to  do  with  that  part  of  the  matter,  it  is  his 
business  to  find  words,  but  as  for  meanings,  reader, 
that  is  your  look  out ;  we  leave  that  to  you,  and  if  there 
be  no  connexion  in  what  we  say  it  is'  the  fault  of  the 
book-binder — it  is  his  business  to  stitch  all  matters  to- 
gether :  do  we  not  give  you  words,  fine  words  as  any  in 
the  dictionary  ?  If  you  have  words  enough  for  your 
money,  reader,  you  have  no  cause  for  any  complaint ; 
for  when  a  man  buys  a  book,  what  does  he  buy  but 
words  ?  as,  when  he  buys  a  house,  what  does  he  buy 
but  a  heap  of  bricks  ?  and  if  they  all  lie  loose,  it  is  all 
the  better,  he  may  stick  them  together  just  as  he  likes: 
folks  make  a  fuss  about  architecture,  and  what  is  it 
after  all  but  the  sticking  one  brick  to  another  ?  stick- 
ing words  together  is  something  like  it — put  down  your 
money,  sir,  and  we  will  find  words  enough  and  leave 
you  to  sort  them  and  lay  them  in  courses :  what !  do 
you  think  we  take  you  for  a  fool,  reader  ?  if  we  find 
words,  it  were  an  insult  to  suppose  that  you  could  not 
find  sense  yourself:  if  you  have  none  you  are  no  better 
than  a  fool,  and  had  best  let  books  alone,  for,  if  a  fool 
must  needs  buy  what  he  don't  understand,  a  fool  and 
his  money  are  soon  parted : — hold  hard  at  that — he  that 
buys  your  book  can  never  be  a  fool :  a  word  to  the 
wise — if  every  fool  in  Great  Britain  take  a  copy  a-piece 
your  work  will  soon  see  its  tenth  edition :  very  good, 
reader,  put  down  your  penny  and  set  the  example,  and 
Solomon  in  all  his  glory  could  not  do  a  wiser  thing. 
But  wc  were  talking  about  the  ladies,  and  the  pretty 
things  that  came  out  of  their  mouths — and  a  lady  can- 
not spit  but  out  falls  a  diamond,  or  a  pearl ;  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  pearls  and  diamonds  are  so  cheap  that 
[180] 


(Eljc  Distort  of  Sl9r.  3flo^n  Drcastro 

London  now-a-days  is  paved  with  precious  stones — 
when  a  man  pays  a  compliment  to  the  ladies,  the 
greater  the  lie  may  be  that  he  tells  the  better,  for  the 
greatest  lie  is  the  soonest  believed  ! 

Lord  Budemere  was  not  a  little  astonished  at  Old 
Crab's  readiness  to  look  into  his  affairs  after  having 
found  him  to  be  the  instrument  of  his  disinheritance. 
Old  Crab,  however,  was  ready  to  do  any  man  a  good 
turn,  friend  or  enemy,  it  was  all  one  to  him ;  notwith- 
standing this  temper  of  his,  however,  he  would  often 
revenge  an  insult  upon  the  spot ;  a  fault,  he  used  to 
say,  that  took  him  every  spare  moment  of  his  life  to 
make  amends  for.  Lord  Budemere  succeeded  to  a 
noble  estate  and  married  a  noble  fortune  too,  for  Miss 
Decastro,  as  hath  been  said,  came  into  his  house  with 
her  sister  Peggy's  fortune  as  well  as  her  own;  for  poor 
Peggy  was  disinherited  too — Old  Decastro  laid  about 
him  when  he  was  in  his  tantrums — Lord  Budemere  had 
plenty  both  of  land  and  money,  and  some  very  fine 
houses,  but  prodigality  was  the  moth  that  fretted  the 
garment — Not  to  tell  Mr.  Decastro's  story  over  again, 
however,  in  another  man's  name,  suffice  it  to  say,  that 
Old  Crab  found  his  lordship's  matters  in  a  much  worse 
condition  than  his  brother  John's  matter;  but  more  of 
this  in  another  place. 

We  will  now  look  into  Mr.  Decastro's  drawing-room, 
where  the  gentlemen  upon  their  entree  found  the  ladies 
talking  with  all  their  might.  Lady  St.  Clair,  who  was 
stung  with  more  scorpions  than  one,  seemed  to  be  in 
a  state  of  much  inflammation ;  she  was  making  some 
pretty  free  remarks  upon  Mrs.  Decastro's  masquerade, 
as  she  called  it,  and  went  so  far  as  to  say,  though  not 
in  so  many  words,  that  she  was  not  at  all  times  in  a 
[181] 


(Etje  Jfrtstorv  of  $9r.  31o^n  Decastro 

humour  to  be  made  a  fool  of ;  she  would  not  have  it 
thought,  she  said,  that  she  could  not  take  a  jest  as  well 
as  another,  but  thought  at  the  same  time  that  people's 
feelings  were  not  to  be  trifled  with  in  such  a  manner. 
Colonel  Barret's  story,  seconded  and  confirmed  as  it 
was  by  Mrs.  Decastro's  letter  to  Lady  Budemere,  the 
insinuations  of  which  she  left  to  the  writer's  con- 
science, if  they  might  very  well  deceive  people  single- 
handed,  what  could  be  expected  from  their  forces 
united  but  an  unqualified  belief,  that  every  thing  in  the 
idle  butter-shop  were  true?  She,  for  her  part,  she 
said,  was  not  very  easily  imposed  upon,  but  she  as  much 
believed  that  all  she  saw  in  it  were  true,  when  she 
threw  her  purse  into  Mrs.  Decastro's  ragged  apron,  as 
she  believed  that  she  was  a  breathing  creature.  Mrs. 
Perrimont,  who  could  talk  as  well  as  Lady  St.  Clair, 
wound  up  her  argument  with  saying,  that  the  result  of 
this  pretty  piece  of  mockery  amounted  to  making  a  jest 
of  a  friend  who  came  to  do  a  kind  thing:  she  loved  a 
jest  as  well  as  any  body,  but  never  could  give  counte- 
nance to  a  joke  that  sacrificed  the  feelings  of  one's 
friends.  Lord  Budemere,  whose  money  ran  a  good 
deal  in  his  head,  put  in  a  few  words  by  main  force  at 
this  place;  for  he  had  never  come  in  but  by  downright 
strength  of  voice :  begging  pardon  for  interrupting  the 
ladies,  with  much  politeness,  he  said,  that  the  whole 
party  felt  extreme  sorrow  at  seeing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  De- 
castro,  whom  they  used  to  see  moving  in  the  first  cir- 
cles in  the  world,  now  degraded  into  shopkeepers,  and 
in  this  the  large  contributions  which  they  made  might 
very  well  bear  them  out ;  his  pity,  he  added,  had  never 
picked  his  pocket  to  such  an  amount  before.  In  this 
they  all  agreed,  except  the  kind  countess,  (who  retired, 
[182] 


(Eljc  piston?  of  a^t*.  jflotm  SDrcatftro 

as  it  may  be  remembered,  in  tears  and  sorrow  to  her 
carriage,)  and  looked  as  if  they  could  be  very  glad  to 
see  their  charity-money  coming  back  again — into  which 
language  Mrs.  Decastro  construed  their  eager  looks  in 
a  moment,  and,  unlocking  a  little  gold  box  which  stood 
amongst  a  profusion  of  other  ornaments  upon  a  work- 
table,  she  first  took  out  the  earl's  thirty-pound  note, 
and,  returning  it  to  his  lordship,  said : 

"As  far  as  you  pitied  the  poor  pork  and  butter- 
woman  I  am  obliged  to  you,  and  to  you,  Sir  Harry," 
returning  his  money ;  "  and  to  you,  madam,"  returning 
Lady  St.  Clair's;  "and  to  you,  Mrs.  Perrimont,"  re- 
turning it  with  an  elegant  courtesy  to  each,  as  she  re- 
stored them  their  property; — then  turning  to  the  coun- 
tess and  kindly  shaking"  hands  with  her,  she  added,  "  but 
you,  my  clear  sister,  gave  me  nothing"  but  your  tears,  a 
more  precious  gift  by  far  than  any  sum  of  money ; — 
there  is  more  true  charity  in  one  kind  drop  that  falls 
in  private  for  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  others, 
than  in  a  thousand  guineas  proudly  ushered  into  the 
notice  of  the  world  in  all  the  pomp  and  parade  of  pub- 
lic contribution." 

In  a  few  clays  Lord  Budemere  and  his  party  left  the 
castle. 


['83  J 


CHAPTER   XIV 

How  Old  Crab's  Aunt  Biddy  died  one  day — How  Old  Comical 
set  folks  a-laughing  at  Church,  singing  of  Psalms — How 
old  Crab  scolded  him  thereupon — How  Old  Crab  went  into 
Northamptonshire  to  make  his  Aunt's  Will — How  Old 
Crab  called  upon  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Cock-a-doodle. 
Old  Comical  takes  the  pen. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro 
kept  a  bright  eye  upon  Lord  Budemere  and  his  party, 
until  they  got  them  all  safe  out  of  the  house — never 
once  lost  sight  of  them — no — for  how  soon  is  a  silver 
fork,  or  a  silver  spoon  whipt  into  a  man's  pocket! 
How  soon  is  a  bottle  of  gin  or  a  cask  of  brandy  tucked 
under  a  woman's  petticoats !  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro 
had  a  right  to  look  about  them  as  long  as  they  had  any 
thing  to  lose,  and  more  especially  as  Lord  Budemere's 
party  admired  vastly  all  the  pretty  things  that  they 
clapt  their  eyes  on  in  the  castle,  and  when  people  fall 
to  admiring  another  man's  goods,  their  fingers  are  sure 
to  itch  like  fury !  As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Decastro  began  to  count  their  spoons  and  look 
into  the  henroost,  and  found,  to  their  great  joy,  that  if 
any  thing  was  stolen  nothing  was  missed.  Now  it 
came  furthermore  to  pass,  that  Mrs.  Decastro  and 
Lady  Budemere  came  down  with  a  world  of  salt  water 
at  parting,  and  they  smacked  one  another's  faces  with 
their  red  lips  as  if  they  would  bite  one  another's  heads 
off. — Well,  away  they  went,  the  Earl  and  Countess, 
Sir  Harry  and  Lady  St.  Clair,  and  Mrs.  Perrimont, 
[184] 


t&tyt  bistoty  of  spr.  3T|ot)n  Drcastro 

and,  as  good  luck,  and  a  good  look  out  would  have  it, 
there  was  nothing  missed  in  the  house  after  they  were 
gone,  except  a  box  of  corn-salve  belonging  to  Mrs.  Pet- 
titoe  the  housekeeper. 

How  busy  Old  Crab  was  at  this  time !  for  what  with 
setting  his  brother-in-law  Lord  Budemere's  house  in 
order,  and  darning  his  estates,  and  making  his  aunt 
Biddy's  last  will  and  testament,  he  scarce  knew  on 
what  hand  to  turn  him. 

Old  Comical  was  smoking  his  pipe  over  his  toast  and 
ale  and  nutmeg  in  porch  at  the  farm,  "John! "  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "  come  for  orders : "  forasmuch  as  it  may  be 
remembered  that  Old  Comical  was  Old  Crab's  bailiff 
and  clerk  of  the  parish,  and  said  Amen  to  all  Old 
Crab  said  in  church  o'  Sundays,  "  John ! "  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "come  for  orders." 

Whereupon  Old  Comical  made  his  appearance  in  Old 
Crab's  little  parlour  with  his  brown  jug  in  one  hand 
— what !  leave  such  precious  liquor  all  alone  in  the 
porch ! — with  his  brown  jug  in  one  hand,  and  his  pipe 
in  one  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  his  wig  turned  bush 
forwards  to  keep  the  flies  off  his  forehead. 

"  Master,"  quoth  Old  Comical  with  his  pipe  stuck  in 
his  face,  "here  am  I." 

Old  Comical  smoked  a  long-tailed  pipe  in  summer, 
forasmuch  as  the  vapour,  coming  through  a  long  vein, 
came  cooler  into  his  mouth,  but  the  aforesaid  Old 
Comical  smoked  a  short  pipe  in  winter  to  keep  his 
nose  warm,  which  hung  over  the  bowl  thereof  with  a 
purple  chilblain  at  the  end  of  it,  for  the  frost  snapped 
at  Old  Comical  in  winter-time  as  if  it  would  bite  his 
nose  off:  "Master,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "here  am  I." 

"John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "I  am  called  into  North- 
[185] 


QTlje  toietovy  of  $9r,  31oljn  SDecastro 

amptonshire  to  make  my  aunt  Biddy's  will,  for  she 
hath  taken  it  into  her  head  she  may  die,  it  appearing 
by  the  register,  here,  that  lies  on  the  table,  that  she  is 
ninety  years  of  age.  This  paper  contains  orders  for 
what  I  would  have  done  in  the  farm,  and  this  purse  of 
money  to  pay  the  men  for  three  weeks :  bid  the  carter 
give  Old  Crop  a  good  feed  of  corn,  I  shall  set  out  for 
Northamptonshire  to-morrow  morning:  take  these 
three  sermons  to  Dr.  Rosybottom,  and  tell  him  to 
serve  my  church  three  Sundays:  a  word  with  you, 
John :  if  you  cannot  sing  psalms  without  making  such 
faces  you  shall  sing  no  more ;  you  have  set  the  people 
a-laughing  these  two  last  Sundays :  if  you  cannot  sing- 
psalms  without  screwing  your  cursed  jaws  about  in 
such  a  manner,  you  shall  not  sing  at  all,  but  sit  still  in 
your  desk  and  let  others  sing — twisting  your  chaps 
about  as  if  you  did  it  on  purpose  to  disturb  the  congre- 
gation." 

"  Look  you,  Master,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "  I  sing 
with  my  quid  in  my  mouth,  and  that  it  is  that  is  the 
cause  thereof — the  tobacco  lies  quiet  enough  in  plain 
singing,  but  when  I  come  to  a  shake  the  quid  dances 
about  like  a  devil.  I  was  beating  in  my  throat  upon  the 
vowel  o  in  a  noble  trill  last  Whitsunday,  when  suddenly 
my  quid  began  to  dance — I  was  so  rapt  up  in  my 
gruppo  that  I  forgot  all  about  it  until  it  leaped  out  of 
my  mouth  into  old  Grimes  the  sexton's,  who  was  in  his 
demi-semi : — and  do  you  think  he  would  let  me  have 
my  quid  again? — no,  the  devil-a-bit:  he'll  be  hanged 
some  day  if  there  is  a  loop  or  string  to  spare — no — he 
tucked  it  into  the  corner  of  his  jaw  in  the  middle  of  a 
staff,  and  as  soon  as  the  psalm  was  out  he  shut  his 
mouth,  and  I  saw  no  more  of  my  tobacco.  If  Old 
[186] 


tEtjc  lyititoty  of  apr.  3]oljn  EDrcastro 

Grimes  goes  to  the  devil,  it  I  don't  send  a  chaldron  of 
your  best  round  coals  after  him  I'll  be — " 

"John,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "thou  art  half  drunk,  what 
ale  hast  had  to-night  ?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  do  things  by  halves,  mas- 
ter?" quoth  Old  Comical:  "look  you,  master,  I  have 
received  some  good  news  of  late,  and  was  willing,  I 
know  I  am  welcome  to  your  tap,  I  have  received  some 
good  news  of  late,  and  was  willing  to  throw  clown 
t'other  mug  upon  it ;  I  know  I  am  welcome  to  your 
tap,  your  honour." 

"  Good  news,  you  scoundrel,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  what 
good  news  ?  except  that  the  key  was  left  in  the  ale- 
cellar  door." 

Upon  which  Old  Comical  blew  a  long  volume  of 
smoke  out  of  his  mouth  into  Old  Crab's  face  and  eyes, 
and  putting  him  into  a  thick  fog,  communicated  to 
Old  Crab  what  Lady  St.  Clair  had  told  him  in  the 
ferry-boat,  namely,  that  his  brother  had  printed  an  ad- 
vertisement for  him,  and  was  willing  to  pay  him  his 
legacy.  Old  Crab  said  he  would  call  on  his  brother 
before  he  left  Northamptonshire,  and  look  into  it ;  but 
added,  that  he  was  not  at  all  pleased  with  Old  Comi- 
cal's  behaviour  at  church,  and  if  he  could  not  behave 
better  in  it,  he  would  order  the  church-wardens  to  put 
him  out  of  it  and  disgrace  him  in  the  presence  of  the 
congregation;  subjoining,  that  if  he  found  no  better 
return  for  the  clerkship  which  he  had  given  him  than 
turning  the  psalms  into  ridicule,  and  setting  folks  a- 
laughing  in  church,  Old  Comical  should  be  turned  out 
of  that  too  as  well  as  the  church,  and  another  take  his 
office. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  next  morning  at  four 
[187] 


Wyt  totorp  of  spr.  3fjotm  EDecascro 

o'clock  Old  Crab  mounted  Old  Crop  at  the  tcpping- 
stock  at  the  house  door ;  whereupon  he  smote  the  old 
mare  with  his  oaken  towel,  and  off  trotted  Old  Crop 
with  Old  Crab  and  his  saddle-bags. 

Now  upon  the  arrival  of  Old  Crop  and  Old  Crab  at 
Skeleton  House,  for  that  was  the  name  of  his  aunt 
Biddy's  palace,  he  found  the  old  lady's  carriage  at  the 
door,  and  her  already  dressed  in  her  best  tackle  to  go 
to  a  ball.  Now  at  that  time  the  clock  struck  ten,  and 
the  cock  had  been  upon  the  perch  an  hour : 

"Aunt  Biddy,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  after  the  usual  cere- 
monies of  salutation,  "  I  am  come  to  make  your  will : " 
and  cast  thereupon  his  eye  over  a  gay  knot  of  artificial 
flowers  stuck  with  an  air  into  the  old  lady's  cap. 

"  Hae,  hae,  nephey,"  quoth  the  frisky  old  lass  with  a 
smile,  "  it  will  be  time  enough  for  that  to-morrow,  I  am 
going  to  a  dance  in  the  neighbourhood :"  when,  giving 
her  people  orders  to  take  care  of  Old  Crab,  and  Old 
Crop,  who  had  trotted  many  a  weary  mile,  poor  old 
toad,  with  a  foal  in  her  stomach,  (we  must  not  say 
belly,  for  that  is  indecent,)  when  giving  her  people 
orders  as  aforesaid,  the  old  lady  stept  into  her  carriage 
with  a  little  more  alacrity  than  her  aged  limbs  could  well 
afford,  that  complained  in  half  a  dozen  loud  cracks  that 
they  were  in  no  such  skipping  humour.  Old  Crab  sucked 
up  his  cheeks  at  the  gay  old  lady,  who  scuttled  into  her 
coach  too  quickly  to  leave  him  any  time  for  a  reply. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast,  "Aunt  Biddy," 
quoth  Old  Crab,  "d'ye  mean  to  dance  into  your  grave 
with  a  tabor  and  pipe  at  your  tail  ?  In  the  devil's 
name,  d'ye  know  how  old  ye  are  ? " 

"Past  fifteen,  nephey,"  quoth  the  merry  old  virgin 
with  a  smile. 

[188] 


tEljc  cwor^  of  S©r.  3|o^u  SDccastro 

"Past  fifteen!-'  quoth  Old  Crab;  "d'ye  know  how 
many  fifteens  there  are  in  ninety  ?  " 

"I  love  the  age  of  fifteen  so  well,"  quoth  she,  "that 
I  don't  care  how  often  it  comes  over." 

"You  have  got  it  in  your  head  it  seems,"  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "  that  it  is  time  to  make  your  will ;  now,  look  ye, 
madam,  if  you  can  get  the  fiddles  out  of  your  brains,  I 
have  a  world  of  work  on  my  hands,  and  could  be  glad 
to  come  to  the  business:  "  upon  which  he  went  on  to 
tell  her  that  he  had  a  great  deal  to  do  for  her  nephew 
Lord  Budemere,  who  was  running  post  haste  to  the 
devil. 

"  His  lordship  should  have  come  there  long  ago," 
quoth  she,  "for  every  body  said  that  he  took  the  near- 
est way :  whenever  he  gets  there,  however,  he  will  be 
sure  to  meet  with  a  warm  reception,  for  he  and  the 
devil  are  old  friends ;  hand  and  glove,  nephey  Bat,  on 
the  best  of  terms. — You  have  another  lame  dog  to  help 
over  a  stile,  then,  it  seems,  nephey  Bat;  but  John  is 
upon  good  ground  again,  you  tell  me." 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  the  most  confounded  business  of 
the  two  by  much,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "  I  have  just  writ- 
ten to  the  blockhead,  and  told  him  that  I  must  put  him 
on  spare  diet  these  ten  years,  before  I  can  get  this 
lame  dog  upon  all  fours  again.  I  got  disinherited,  and 
kicked  out  of  the  kingdom  for  giving  that  very  advice, 
which,  if  taken,  had  saved  my  sister's  fortune;  that, 
and  all  the  money  the  frugal  old  lord  left,  is  spent :  but 
come,  to  the  will — it  has  been  high  time  any  day  these 
last  forty  years." 

"  Accidents  may  happen,  nephey,"  quoth  she,  "  acci- 
dents may  happen  to  the  youngest  of  us  all." 

"  Accidents  may  happen !  "  thundered  Old  Crab ; 
[189] 


<L\)t  Distort  of  tBr.  Jotm  Decastro 

"  aye,  you  may  die  in  a  ball-room,  and  be  fiddled  into 
eternity :  the  devil  take  these  colt's  teeth,  how  they 
stick  in  your  mouth,  old  woman !  What  d'ye  mean  to 
do  with  your  money  ?  'tis  time  you  thought  about  it 
while  the  spark  of  life  sticks  in  your  old  tinder,  if  a 
serious  thought  can  come  into  such  a  bedlam." 

"Come,  come,  Old  Crab,''  quoth  aunt  Biddy,  "will 
you  never  leave  off  spitting  brimstone  and  sulphur?  " 

"  Will  you  never  leave  off  galloping,  dancing,  rigging 
and  romping  amongst  the  boys  and  girls  ?  answer  me 
that,  old  female.  What  money  have  you  in  your 
banker's  hands  ? " 

"Not  a  groat,"  said  aunt  Biddy. 

"Not  a  groat,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "why,  how  the 
plague  can  you  contrive  to  spend  three  thousand 
pounds  a-year  ?  answer  me  that,  ye  old  romp." 

"I  never  was  a  miser,  nephey,"  quoth  the  old  lady; 
"but  you  know,  who  manage  all  my  money  matters, 
madcap  as  I  am,  that  I  never  once  outran  the  con- 
stable :  and,  truly,  what  is  money  good  for  ?  how  can 
we  put  a  penny  to  a  better  use  than  to  call  one's 
friends  about  one's  house,  and  make  them  all  happy, 
hae,  nephey  Bat  ?  if  one  is  merry  and  wise,  hae,  nephey 
Bat  ? " 

"You  are  merry  enough,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "if  you 
were  but  as  wise,  and  old  enough  too  to  be  more  of  the 
one  and  less  of  the  other  to  my  thinking." 

"  Why,  look  you,  nephey,  the  more  merry  the  more 
wise,  that's  my  motto,  though  it  mayn't  be  so  much  to 
your  liking. — I  give  a  ball  to-morrow,  and  to-night  I  am 
going  to  a  masquerade,  so  if  you  please  we  will  come  to 
parish  business  as  soon  as  we  have  done  breakfast.  I 
may  die,  hoe,  nephey  Bat  ?  I  may  die,  the  youngest  of 
[190] 


XLfyt  history  of  £®t.  3iolm  Dccastro 

us  all  may  die,  nephey  Bat !  has,  hae,  hae,  nephey  Bat ! " 
whereupon  the  old  lass  clapt  her  hand  gayly  on  Old 
Crab's  shoulder,  and  sang  the  following  staves : 

Come,  a  thing  that  begins  with  an  F*  for  old  Care  ! 
Grief  shall  ne'er  make  a  crack  in  my  old  earthen  ware, 
I'll  dance,  drink,  and  sing,  frisk,  chuckle,  laugh  and  chatter, 
And  as  soon  as  I  am  dead  the  devil  take  my  empty  platter. 

Sing  fal  lal  liddy  tiddy  di  do  ! 

Look  ye,  Old  Cock-a-doodle,  how  the  sun  shines  to-day  ! 
A  louse  for  the  hangman,  we'll  be  merry  while  we  may  : 
Old  tuzzy  muzzy  grief,  curse  her  picture,  is  a  drab  ! 
But  mirth  is  a  funny  lass,  what  sayst  to  that,  Old  Crab? 

Sing  fal  lal  liddy  tiddy  di  do  ! 

"  What  d'ye  think  of  that  ?  hah,  hah,  nephey  Bat  ?  " 

"A  merry  old  cat !  "  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Merry  !  aye,  nephey,"  quoth  aunt  Biddy,  "  I  danced 
four  dances  last  night,  fell  in  love,  and  dreamed  that  I 
was  kissing  my  partner.  Die !  why  you  don't  think  I 
mean  to  die  because  I  sent  for  you  to  make  my  will, 
Old  Crab  ?  I'm  not  dead  yet,  nephey  Bat,  I  am  not 
dead  yet." 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  piece  of  my  mind,"  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "  the  sooner  you  arc  dead  the  better  for  the  repu- 
tation of  ages  past ;  you  may  be  taken  for  a  sample  of 
what  women  were  formerly,  and  bring  more  disgrace 
upon  our  great-grandmothers  than  their  share  comes 
to,  galloping  about  at  this  time  o'  day  to  balls,  routs  and 
masquerades ;  I  wonder  what  the  plague  ails  you  for 
my  part,  or  what  the  devil  is  come  to  a  parcel  of  old 
bones  !  Come,  send  the  crockery  away,  if  a  will  is  to 
be  made." 

* Scholiion — What  could  the  old  lady  mean  if  not  farthing? 
[I9i] 


W$t  S?i$tori?  of  $0t.  31ol;n  HDecastro 

Upon  which  the  old  lady  rang  her  bell,  and,  having 
cleared  the  breakfast  table,  the  butler  put  an  inkstand 
under  Old  Crab's  nose,  who,  dipping  his  pen  therein, 
and  taking  a  sheet  of  paper,  said,  "  Now,  aunt,  what  is 
your  will  ?  what  d'ye  mean  to  do  with  your  money  ? " 

"Why,"  said  she,  "folks  are  apt  to  part  with  their 
money  when  they  can  keep  it  no  longer :  John,  you  tell 
me,  is  upon  good  ground,  and  like  to  keep  so — and  a 
man  worth  three-and-twenty  thousand  pounds  a-year 
has  enough  and  to  spare  for  himself  and  his  children ; 
there  is  my  nephey  Lamsbroke  too  is  rolling  in  money ; 
and,  as  for  my  lord,  he  would  spend  Mexico  in  one  day 
and  Peru  in  another,  and  not  know  where  to  find  money 
to  buy  a  supper  before  he  went  to  bed ;  besides,  these 
good  folks  never  come  near  me,  never  make  any  in- 
quiries after  me  no  more  than  if  I  had  a  ton  of  marble 
upon  my  bones — not  they — I  know  as  little  of  them 
and  care  as  little :  they  all  live  at  a  vast  distance  from 
me,  certainly,  but  a  kind  letter  now  and  then  would 
comfort  my  old  soul :  you  have  always  been  a  kind  and 
dutiful  nephey,  taken  care  of  my  money,  done  all  my 
business  for  me,  all  my  little  matters,  saved  me  all  ex- 
pense and  all  trouble,  and  moreover  put  three  hundred 
pounds  a-year  to.  my  income  by  your  skill  and  knowl- 
edge in  the  money  markets — you,  therefore,  I  make  my 
heir,  who  ought  to  have  all  that  John  enjoys  at  this 
moment,  if  my  brother  had  not  listened,  like  a  hot- 
headed fool,  to  Lord  Budemere,  who,  to  tell  you  a 
secret,  was  the  sole  cause  of  your  being  turned  out  of 
your  estates.  I  tell  you  this  that  you  may  take  no 
trouble  in  that  man's  matters,  who  has  been  the  great- 
est enemy  that  you  ever  had  to  your  back." 

"  In  the  first  place,  aunt,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  I  have 
[192] 


(Etje  fyi&toty  of  £pr.  3Jolm  EDccastro 

to  say  that  this  thing  is  no  secret  to  me,  for  I  found  a 
packet  of  letters,  and  their  answers,  among  John's  pa- 
pers, when  I  settled  his  matters,  that  told  me  every 
thing :  in  the  next,  I  have  to  add  that  I  will  have  none 
of  your  money,  madam :  what  I  have  done  I  have  done, 
but  I  will  have  none  of  your  money:  John  lets  me 
have  my  farm  cheap,  and  I  have  improved  my  church : 
I  have  enough,  and  will  take  none  of  your  money, 
not  I." 

"Highty,  tighty,"  quoth  the  old  lady,  "none  of  my 
money,  quoth-a:  why,  you  don't  know  what  is  good, 
nephey,  you  don't  know  what  is  good — not  take  any  of 
my  money !  O '  my  conscience,  'tis  the  first  time  a 
bag  of  gold  ever  went  a-begging !  For  the  shame  of 
the  world  and  the  speech  of  the  people !  what  will  folks 
say  if  I  leave  my  money  to  another  after  all  you  have 
done  for  me  ?  Who  will  tell  my  story  for  me  after  my 
bones  are  dry,  when  some  fleering  coxcomb  shall  lift 
his  foot  upon  my  tomb-stone,  and  say,  here  lies  an  old 
toad  under  a  slab  that  deserved  to  be  buried  under 
a  dog-kennel — how  she  used  her  nephey  Bat  after  all 
he  had  done  for  her,  curse  her  picture,  a  man  that 
would  ride  five  hundred  miles  an  end  upon  a  full  gallop 
to  come  and  cut  her  corns  for  her !  an  old  harridan,  to 
cut  such  a  man  off  with  a  shilling !  My  meaning  is 
this,  nephey  Bat,  I  would  leave  a  sweet  scent  behind 
me,  and  not  sneak  out  of  the  world  with  my  tail  be- 
tween my  legs  as  a  dog  does,  after  having  committed 
a  nuisance  in  the  parlour.  My  Lady  Wixwax  and  I 
had  a  world  of  talk  upon  this  matter  the  other  evening 
over  a  dish  of  gun-powder  tea,  but  I  believe  neither  of 
us  heard  one  word  of  what  the  other  said  for  hours, 
for  we  both  talked  together  the  whole  time.  Seeing 
r3  [193] 


Cl)f  J?i0totr  of  tyt.  31otm  2>ecastto 

how  matters  were  like  to  go,  we  agreed,  at  last,  to  take 
it  by  turns  to  hold  one  another's  tongues  in  the  sugar 
nippers :  gracious  heaven !  how  Lady  Wixwax  did  run 
on  after  the  ninth  dish  of  gun-powder !  I  paid  her  off, 
though,  when  it  was  my  turn  to  nip,  though  her  tongue 
quivered  all  the  while  between  my  fingers  as  if  I  had 
got  hold  of  the  tail  of  a  snake.  Curse  my  picture, 
nephey  Bat,  if  I  think  there  is  a  woman  beneath  the 
silent  sun  that  can  talk  so  long,  so  lively  and  so  loud 
as  the  old  Countess  of  Wixwax.  We  came  both  of  us 
at  last  upon  one  thing  nephey, —  that  you  was  the  man 
for  my  money ;  and  if  you  will  not  take  it,  or  take  it 
into  your  own  family,  curse  my  picture  if  I  shall  go  out 
of  the  world  with  quiet  bowels." 

"  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  your  money,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "  what  the  plague  have  I  done  to  deserve 
your  money  ?     I'll  have  none  of  your  money." 

"My  name,"  quoth  the  old  virgin,  "will  stink  above 
ground  after  my  body  is  turned  into  snuff  and  my 
coffin  into  a  snuff-box.  I  cannot  abide  ingratitude, 
nephey  Bat.  What  did  I  know  about  worldly  matters  ? 
I  should  have  been  robbed  and  ruined  but  for  your 
services — they  ought  and  shall  be  rewarded:  in  the 
first  place,  put  your  daughter  Julia  down  for  ten  thou- 
sand pounds." 

"  What  the  devil  art  at,  aunt,"  said  he,  "will  you  turn 
the  daughter's  brains  by  way  of  reward  to  her  father  ? 
you  will  put  the  wench  out  of  conceit  with  the  man  I 
would  pick  out  for  her  husband,  and  set  her  a-sniffling 
about  after  fine  gentlemen." 

"  The  money  shall  come  into  your  house,  nephey,  if 
I  commit  a  new  sort  of  burglary,  break  in  and  put  it 
there.  Didn't  you  wrest  my  fortune  by  main  force  out 
['94] 


W$t  totstorp  of  ftt.  3T,ot)tt  s>ecafitro 

of  the  hands  of  ray  old  uncle  Benjamin,  who  claimed 
all  the  principal  under  some  flaw  in  the  deed  of  trust  ? 
— put  ten  thousand  down  to  little  Julia,  and,  if  you  are 
afraid  of  the  girl's  running  mad,  keep  it  a  secret  till 
after  she  is  married." 

"  Is  there  no  way  to  thank  a  man  for  what  you  are 
pleased  to  call  his  services,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "but  by 
cramming  money  down  his  throat  ?  If  I  have  done 
well,  I  shall  not  lose  my  reward,  aunt;  if  ill,  justice 
will  be  done  me,  though  you  get  upon  my  house  top 
and  shake  guineas  about  our  ears  out  of  your  petti- 
coats. You  have  made  the  offer,  you  can  do  no  more, 
let  that  satisfy  your  conscience — rest  you  content — my 
doors  are  bolted  against  your  money." 

"One  word  more,"  quoth  aunt  Biddy;  "you  have 
nothing  but  pewter  in  your  church  since  it  was  robbed 
of  the  silver  service ;  now  I  will  not  be  denied  in  this 
thing,  I  will  leave  a  thousand  pounds  to  furnish  the 
Communion  table,  with  this  inscription  upon  the  prin- 
cipal piece  of  plate,  Be  it  known  to  all,  that  this  service 
of  Communion  plate  was  bequeathed  to  the  Rectory  of 
Oaken  Grove  by  Bridget  Decastro,  in  token  of  her  grat- 
itude to  her  Ncphcy  Bartholomew  Decastro,  Rector 
thereof  being  the  only  return  that  he  would  receive  a! 
her  hands  for  the  manifold  and  valuable  kindness  which 
she  received  at  his." 

"Well,  well,  aunt,  I  shan't  stick  out,  I  shan't  stick 
out;  if  you  make  me  your  executor  it  shall  be  done 
according  to  your  order,  but  let  me  put  on  the  inscrip- 
tion in  Latin." 

"No,  no,"  quoth  she,  "in  English,  it  shall  be  in 
English,  and  then  every  body  will  understand  it." 

•"Well,  well,  1    .shan't   stick   out,"  quoth   Old  Crab; 


tEtjr  £n0tor£  of  Wt.  3iotm  SDecastro 

"  now  for  your  money :  if  you  are  at  a  loss  I  will  give 
you  my  advice,  aunt,  but  I  am  come  to  make  your  will, 
not  my  own." 

"  My  nephey  Lamsbroke  is  rich,"  said  she,  "and  only 
one  child;  my  nephey  John  is  rich,  and  has  only 
two—." 

"One  word,  aunt,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "John  has  one 
son  unprovided  for,  the  youngest,  named  Acerbus,  who 
is  the  favourite ;  he  has  not  a  penny  of  money  in  the 
world,  and  the  estates  are  settled  in  strict  descent ;  the 
eldest,  therefore,  will  come  in  for  all,  and  the  youngest 
for  none,  any  further  than  what  his  father  can  save  for 
him :  now,  although  I  do  not  think  it  very  likely  that 
John  will  run  back  into  his  old  courses,  yet  we  cannot 
put  too  many  bolts  upon  that  door;  leave  what  you 
will  to  Acerbus  under  this  condition,  that  if  his  father 
lays  by  two  thousand  pounds  a  year  as  long  as  he  lives, 
Acerbus  shall  come  in  for  the  benefit  of  your  will  at 
his  father's  death,  if  he  be  then  five-and-tvventy  years 
of  age ;  if  not,  as  soon  as  he  shall  be :  in  case  of  his 
death  to  be  divided  equally  amongst  his  children ;  if 
none,  his  brothers;  in  case  of  none,  then  among  Sir 
John  Lamsbroke's  son's  children;  and  again,  in  case  of 
none,  among  Lady  Charlotte  Orby's  children,  your 
nephew  Budemere's  daughter:  my  aim  in  this  thing  is 
to  make  a  check  of  a  favourite  child  upon  the  profli- 
gate propensities  of  his  father.  I  have  now  some 
hopes,  however,  of  John ;  he  has  smarted  too  much  to 
put  his  head  again  in  the  fire,  or  I  am  very  much  mis- 
taken in  this  matter." 

"Very  well,"  said  she,  "I  am  content,  since  you  will 
take  nothing,  nephey  Bat,  that  these  things  shall  be  so. 
What  is  John's  eldest  son's  name  ?  " 
[196] 


Q\)t  Unatonj  of  tyt.  3o\)\\  SPttastro 

"  Frederick,  a  good  for  nothing  young  dog  as  ever 
was  hanged  or  unhanged ;  he  may  mend,  belie,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  "  or  he  may  go  out  of  the  world,  some  day, 
kicking  in  a  string  at  the  end  of  the  devil's  fishing  rod, 
the  gallows." 

"Come,  put  him  down  a  thousand  pounds,  a  little 
legacy,  that's  all,  to  be  his  when  he  comes  of  age,  to 
save  a  little  promise  I  made." 

After  a  few  other  trifling  bequests,  Old  Crab  was 
made  executor,  the  will  attested,  put  into  a  small  cabi- 
net, and  the  key  thereof  assigned  to  the  care  of  Old 
Crab. 

As  soon  as  the  will  was  put  into  the  cabinet,  and  the 
parish  business,  as  the  old  lady  called  it,  was  done,  Old 
Crab,  whose  way  it  was  to  abuse  folks  to  their  faces, 
and  do  them  a  good  turn  behind  their  backs,  began  to 
cast  it  in  his  mind  how  he  might  be  of  service  to  poor 
Old  Comical,  and  asked  his  aunt  if  she  knew,  or  had 
heard  of  such  a  person  as  'Squire  Mathers?  Old  Crab 
could  not  have  applied  to  a  fitter  person,  for  there  was 
not  a  family  of  any  the  least  note  within  twenty  miles 
of  her  house  but  the  gay  old  lady  was  well  acquainted 
with  it. 

li  Nephey,"  said  she,  "  I  know  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mathers 
very  well ;  he  has  a  very  good  estate  at  a  place  called 
Cock-a-doodle ;  it  is  about  fifteen  miles  from  hence,  and 
if  you  will  stay  with  me  and  go  to  the  masquerade  to- 
morrow night  given  at  Lord  Star's,  you  shall  be  intro- 
duced to  the  man,  if  you  have  any  thing  to  say  to 
him." 

"I  go  to  a  masquerade!"  thundered  Old  Crab; 
"  what  the  devil  have  I  to  do  at  a  masquerade  ?  " 

"  Do  ?  why  vou  may  come  very  well  in  character  of  a 
I  [97] 


<Z£t)e  j^ietoiv  of  *$r.  }[jotw  SDecaatro 

Cynic,"  said  she,  "and  abuse   every  body  you  meet, 
nephey." 

"What  do  you  know  of  this  man,  aunt  ?  "  quoth  Old 
Crab. 

"  Know  of  him  ?  why  I  know  more  than  is  good,  as  I 
do  of  most  of  my  acquaintance,"  said  she;  "there  is  a 
story  of  his  having  defrauded  a  brother  whom  none 
ever  saw  here,  and  most  believe  to  be  dead,  of  all  the 
patrimony  which  his  father  left  him,  by  giving  out  that 
his  father  died  intestate,  and  coming  in  for  all  the 
property  as  heir  at  law ;  but  he  and  his  conscience  had 
a  quarrel  upon  it,  and,  as  when  rogues  fall  out,  honest 
men  come  by  their  goods,  he  owned  publicly  that  he 
had  found  a  will,  and  had  reason  to  think  everything 
did  not  belong  to  him,  because  his  father  had  be- 
queathed five  thousand  pounds  to  his  brother  John ; 
upon  which  he  fell  to  advertise  for  him,  but  hearing  no 
tidings  of  his  brother,  he  kept  the  five  thousand  pounds 
in  his  pocket,  either  because  he  did  not  know  whom  to 
give  it  to,  or  because  he  thought  the  money  might  as 
well  be  in  his  own  pocket  as  another's:  but  what  have 
you  to  do  with  this  man,  nephey  ? " 

"No  matter,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "I  have  a  little  busi- 
ness with  him ;  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there,  aunt 
Biddy,  and  if  you  know  it,  it  will  be  every  where." 

"  What !  can't  I  keep  a  secret  ?  Yes,  indeed  I  can, 
very  well,"  said  she:  "do  tell  me  what  business  you 
have  with  Mr.  Mathers,  upon  my  honour  I  will  tell  it 
to  no  soul." 

"  And  I  will  take  care  you  shall  be  as  good  as  your 
word,  for  you   shall  not  know  it,"  quoth   Old  Crab. 
And   aunt    Biddy  never  did   tell   it,  for  this  reason, 
amongst  others,  because  she  did  not  know  it. 
[198] 


%\)t  iptstorr  of  a^r.  3f|oljn  H>rrastro 

Early  the  next  morning  Old  Crab  mounted  his  marc, 
and  having  made  his  inquiries,  made  the  best  of  his  way 
too  to  'Squire  Mathers,  and  he  was  at  his  gate  at  Cock- 
a-doodle,  before  the  sun  or  the  'squire  was  risen :  so  he 
gave  Old  Crop  to  a  groom,  who  put  her  into  a  stable, 
and  Old  Crab  said  he  would  take  a  turn  and  stretch  his 
legs,  and  by  that  time  the  'squire  might  be  stirring. 
Upon  Old  Crab's  return  at  a  very  good  time,  videlicet, 
breakfast  time,  the  'squire  begged  he  might  be  shown 
into  the  house,  and  taking  Old  Crab  into  his  study, 
wherein  he  did  his  justice-business,  begged  to  know 
his  complaint. 

"  I  am  come  to  lay  an  information  against  a  man,  an 
please  your  worship,  being  told  that  you  are  a  magis- 
trate in  this  place,  who  has  robbed  his  brother  of  five 
thousand  pounds." 

The  'squire  started ;  whether  it  was  his  conscience 
that  made  him  start,  or  what  it  was,  must  be  left  to  the 
guess  of  the  reader :  the  'squire  started,  however,  and 
changed  colour,  and  said  he  could  go  no  further  in  the 
matter  than  have  the  man  taken  into  custody,  for  which 
he  would  give  proper  orders. 

"  Will  your  worship  give  me  authority  to  lay  hands 
on  him  if  I  can  come  at  him?"  quoth  Old  Crab:  that 
he  certainly  would,  he  said :  "  and  bear  me  harmless 
for  the  assault  ?  "  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  I  will,"  said  the  'squire. 

Upon  which  Old  Crab  instantly  seized  the  'squire  by 
the  collar,  and  said,  as  Nathan  once,  "  Thou  art  the 
man."  The  'squire  complained  a  little  of  this  usage  in 
his  own  house,  but  being  a  man  of  temper,  begged  to 
be  informed  whom  he  had  injured,  and  what  was  meant 
by  this  rude  attack ;  adding,  that  he  was  very  willing  to 
h99] 


W$t  Jjistory  of  tyt.  3|ol)n  Dccastro 

redress  any  injury  which  he  had  done  any  man,  if  any 
such  charge  could  be  fairly  made  out  against  him. 

Old  Crab  then  told  this  story;  upon  which  the 
'squire  confessed  that  he  had  found  a  will,  and  had 
done  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  find  his  brother  John ; 
he  further  owned,  with  great  candour,  that  he  had  se- 
creted the  said  will,  and  told  his  brother  a  lie  when  he 
came  to  demand  his  money ;  for  Old  Comical  had  been 
told  by  his  father  that  he  would  leave  him  five  thousand 
pounds,  which  was  all  that  he  had  in  his  power  to  leave 
him,  as  the  estates  were  settled  in  descent,  and  the 
tenant  in  reversion  could  not  be  brought  to  cut  off  the 
entail.  The  'squire  further  said,  that  however  extraor- 
dinary such  a  confession  might  appear,  since  he  might 
so  well  have  concealed  the  matter,  he  begged  to  ex- 
plain the  matter  by  saying,  that  he  hated  so  much  the 
thing  he  had  been,  that  he  thought  the  whole  world 
owed  him  a  shame  for  it ;  he  had  therefore  published 
the  whole  truth,  together  with  his  hearty  repentance 
of  what  he  had  done.  The  most  welcome  news  that  he 
had  ever  heard  in  his  life  was  that  his  brother  John 
was  found ;  and  as  for  his  money,  it  was  ready  for  him 
at  any  time  when  he,  or  his  attorney,  would  call  for  it ; 
for  none  knew,  nor  could  any  imagine  the  pain  and 
compunction  of  mind  which  he  had  suffered  for  what 
he  had  done;  saying  this,  he  fell  into  such  a  fit  of 
laughter  as  to  be  under  a  necessity  of  holding  his  sides 
with  both  his  hands  for  several  minutes. 

Old  Crab  was  not  a  little  offended  at  this  unexpected 
sally,  and  was  preparing  to  express  his  anger,  when 
Mrs.  Mathers  came  into  the  room  in  some  haste,  being 
told  a  stranger  was  with  her  husband  in  it,  well  knowing 
what  might  happen  if  the  stranger  staid  long  with  him. 
[2oo] 


tEtjf  3?t0tor?  of  ^r.  31ol)n  SDtcastro 

"  Sir,"  said  she  to  Old  Crab,  seeing  her  husband  con- 
vulsed with  laughter,  "you  will  not  take  the  thing 
amiss  when  you  are  told  that  my  husband  is  very  sub- 
ject to  fits  of  this  sort." 

"That  may  be,  madam,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "but  I  am 
in  no  humour  to  be  laughed  at  for  all  that." 

Upon  this  Mr.  Mathers  laughed  so  loud  that  Mrs. 
Mathers  could  scarce  be  heard  to  speak,  and  out  he 
went,  at  last,  laughing  out  of  the  room,  holding  his 
sides  with  both  his  hands.  Old  Crab  and  Mrs.  Math- 
ers being  now  left  at  the  mercy  of  each  other,  "  Mad- 
am," quoth  he,  "  'tis  well  he  left  the  room  in  time,  or  I 
would  have  broken  his  bones." 

"You  will  not  hear  me,  sir,"  said  she. 

"  I  came  here  upon  no  such  laughing  matter, 
madam." 

"  He  means  no  harm — no  disrespect." 

"  What  the  plague  does  he  mean  ?  "  quoth  Old  Crab, 
in  a  voice  that  shook  the  house. 

"  Hear  me,  sir,  one  word ;  my  husband  is  subject  to 
fits — to  epileptic  fits:  he  is  sometimes  seized  even  in 
church  with  these  fits  of  laughter.  I  came  into  the 
room,  knowing  what  might  happen,  in  all  haste,  lest  a 
fit  should  take  him,  as  it  usually  is  the  case  when  with 
strangers — the  thing  comes  from  his  father,  who  was 
a  very  great  laugher,  and  died,  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  laugh- 
ter, at  seeing  a  man  going  along  the  church-yard  to  be 
married,  with  St.  Vitus's  dance." 

"  Madam,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  I  am  sorry  for  your 
husband's  infirmity,  and  am  glad  you  came  in  time  to 
save  his  bones,  and  should  now  be  glad,  if  the  fit  hath 
left  him,  to  come  to  a  conclusion  of  my  business." 

Upon  which,  being  shown  into  the  breakfast  parlour, 

[  -OI  ] 


3Ti)f  History  of  mi'.  31otjn  SDrcastro 

he  found  'Squire  Mathers  writing  a  letter  to  his  brother 
John  in  it,  with  much  gravity,  when  he  presently  put 
his  seal  upon  it,  and  delivered  it  to  Old  Crab,  and  fall- 
ing into  another  fit  of  laughter,  left  the  room. 

Mrs.  Mathers,  having  curiosity  enough  to  inquire 
into  Old  Crab's  business,  said,  that  she  was  sorry  the 
tiling  could  not  have  been  broken  to  her  husband,  for, 
knowing  how  much  the  poor  man  had  suffered  in  his 
mind  upon  the  business,  she  feared  the  sudden  sur- 
prise and  joy  of  his  brother  being  found  would  be  of 
dangerous  consequences  to  him.  The  'squire,  how- 
ever, presently  returned,  and  expressed  much  satisfac- 
tion at  the  news,  and  said  it  was  the  happiest  day  of 
his  life,  made  his  excuses  for  his  infirmity,  which  seized 
him  with  more  force  upon  any  unexpected  emergency, 
and  added,  that  an  invitation  was  given  in  the  letter  to 
his  brother  John,  whom  he  begged  to  see  as  soon  as 
possible  at  his  house,  when  his  father's  legacy  should 
be  duly  paid  him,  as  promised  in  the  letter,  with  all  the 
interest  due  upon  the  money. 

After  breakfast,  Old  Crab  left  Cock-  a-doodle,  and 
returned  to  his  aunt's  house  at  dinner  time.  The  next 
day  he  put  himself  upon  his  journey,  and  in  due  time 
he  and  his  mare  came  safe  home  to  Oaken  Grove 
farm.  Something  remarkable,  however,  befel  on  his 
journey  which  must  not  be  omitted;  it  was,  that  before 
he  had  ridden  five  miles  from  Skeleton  House,  he  was 
called  back  again  by  a  man  who  galloped  after  him  at 
a  furious  rate,  to  say  that  his  aunt  was  taken  very  ill : 
upon  which  Old  Crab  pulled  up  Old  Crop,  who  had  got 
into  a  steady  trot  with  her  head  towards  the  north,  and 
giving  the  right  rein  of  the  bridle  a  twitch,  tacked  the 
old  mare  round,  and  put  her  head  just  in  the  very 
[  202  ] 


Wtyt  Cnetorv  of  %i.  3Jol)n  SPrrastro 

place  where  her  tail  was,  whereupon  Old  Crop  trotted 
back  with  Old  Crab  to  Skeleton  House,  too  late,  how- 
ever, to  find  any  more  than  the  remains  of  Mrs.  Brid- 
get Decastro,  and  a  little  bit  of  paper,  containing  some 
directions  about  her  funeral,  which,  and  some  other 
matters,  being  left  sole  executor,  detained  him  more 
than  a  week. 


L=°3J 


CHAPTER  XV 

Some  Account  of  Frederick  and  Acerbus,  Mr.  Decastro's  two 
Sons,  who  were  sent  to  Eton  School — Old  Cotnical  holds 
the  pen. 

Here  follows  some  account  of  Mr.  Decastro's  two 
sons,  Frederick  and  Acerbus,  who  were  sent  to  Eton 
school.  It  came  to  pass  that  the  eldest  son,  Frederick, 
promised  very  faithfully  to  become  a  dunce,  though  a 
lad  of  no  common  parts :  and  it  likewise  came  to  pass 
that  the  youngest  son,  Acerbus,  a  lad  of  very  superior 
abilities,  promised  as  faithfully  to  become  a  good 
scholar,  and  they  kept  their  words. 

Frederick  said  that  he  should  have  money  enough  to 
buy  things  as  he  wanted  them,  and  if  any  knot  occurred, 
it  would  be  time  enough  when  it  did  to  pay  another  to 
untie  it  for  him  if  he  could  not  untie  it  himself,  so  he 
followed  his  head  in  spite  of  the  rod,  and  did  just  as  to 
him  it  seemed  meet.  Being  told  that  Homer,  Horace, 
and  Virgil  were  famous  for  their  lofty  flights,  he  said 
they  would  suit  him  very  well,  so  he  sat  himself  very 
diligently  to  work,  and  made  paper  kites  of  them.  But 
the  saddest  thing  of  all,  he  grew  very  vicious,  sware 
terribly,  and,  having  worn  out  all  the  old  oaths,  made 
new  ones,  and  taught  them  in  the  school :  he  gambled 
too,  and  fished  all  the  money  out  of  his  school  fellows' 
pockets. 

When  he  was  sixteen  he  fell  ill,  of  a  disease  without 
a  name,  whereupon  his  father  was  fain  to  send  for  him, 
[204] 


Cljc  toistotv  of  ££r.  3f]otm  EDexastro 

and  see  to  his  cure  at  home.  As  soon  as  he  was  well, 
he  begged  earnestly  to  be  sent  back  again  to  school  to 
finish  his  education,  lamenting  that  he  had  lost  so  much 
time,  and,  having  promised  his  parents  to  do  his  best 
to  make  it  up,  he  got  a  gun  and  shot  a  fawn  in  a 
neighbouring  park,  had  it  dressed  at  an  inn,  and  made 
fifty  of  the  biggest  boys  in  the  school  dead  drunk  at  a 
sitting. 

Acerbus  was  a  very  good  boy,  and  grew  to  be  the  best 
scholar  ever  known  in  that  school.  Frederick  said,  that 
things  were  just  as  they  ought  to  be,  for  it  was  the  elder's 
birthright  to  be  a  dunce,  and  no  schoolmaster  of  them 
all  should  flog  him  out  of  it :  younger  sons  were  apt 
enough  to  put  in  for  it,  but  he  loved  his  brother  all 
the  better  for  not  disputing  that  title  with  him. 

When  Mr.  Decastro  had  bought  as  many  hard  words 
as  might  be  sufficient  for  their  admittance  into  the  Uni- 
versity, he  carried  his  cockle-shells  to  Oxford,  and  en- 
tered the  eldest  at  Christ-church  college,  and  the 
youngest  at  Merton ;  and  this  in  order  to  divide  the 
honour  of  their  breeding,  as  it  would  have  been  too 
much  for  one  college  to  have  the  honour  of  breeding 
them  both. 

Change  of  air  and  place  did  not  change  their  minds : 
Acerbus  was  every  thing  that  the  University  could 
wish  him  to  be,  and  Frederick,  on  the  other  hand, 
every  thing  that  the  University  could  wish  him  not  to 
be.  Acerbus  grew  better  and  better :  Frederick  worse 
and  worse.  Frederick,  when  he  left  Eton,  had  been 
flogged  two  thousand  six  hundred  and  forty-nine  times : 
his  brother  cut  a  notch  on  a  tally  at  every  flogging, 
and,  as  he  heard  matter  were  collecting  for  their  his- 
tory, he  put  his  tally  into  the  hands  of  the  historian 
[205] 


W$t  ^istorp  of  $$t.  violin  EDecascro 

amongst  other  documents  of  the  like  importance.  At 
the  University,  Frederick  played  the  very  devil,  and,  it 
was  thought,  would  have  been  the  ruin  of  the  place 
single-handed,  if  disease  had  not  stept  in  and  laid  him 
by  the  heels :  yes,  Frederick's  stars  forbade  him  that 
honour ;  and  certainly  a  moderate  man  might  well  be 
satisfied  with  less  than  the  destruction  of  an  university. 

He  did  his  best,  however,  to  do  his  worst  in  order  to 
it,  and  fought  like  Hercules  against  every  thing  that 
stood  in  his  way,  and  took  the  pains  to  read  the  Bible 
in  furtherance  of  his  plan :  he  burlesqued  the  psalms, 
and  made  indecent  songs  of  many,  and  sung  them  in 
company,  to  the  great  amusement  and  contentment  of 
the  gownsmen.  As  to  the  Christian  religion,  he  said 
it  was  a  lie  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  the  found- 
ers impostors,  as  he  could  prove,  if  called  upon,  which 
happened  once  upon  a  time,  when  he  gave  a  man  a 
sound  thrashing  for  his  impertinence.  Now,  if  a  man 
knocks  down  his  opponent,  it  is  one  proof  that  he  can- 
not stand  against  him ;  so  after  this  he  was  let  to  have 
his  saying,  for,  though  many  had  regard  for  religion, 
there  were  few  in  the  University  that  had  not  more  for 
their  bones ;  and  this  was  reasonable  enough. 

Frederick  never  went  to  college  prayers  but  when 
he  was  drunk,  and  neither  knew  what  he  did  nor 
whither  he  went ;  so  it  was  always  a  very  bad  sign 
when  he  came  into  chapel,  for  he  was  usually  carried 
out  of  it  at  full  length,  inasmuch  as  the  coolness  of  the 
place  sat  the  liquor  at  work  in  him.  At  length  Fred- 
erick fell  sick ;  for  the  strongest  constitutions  cannot 
stand  their  ground  long  against  every  sort  of  de- 
bauchery. 

His  brother,  Acerbus,  now  wrote  a  letter  to  his 
[206] 


©tje  Jjjistorp  oi  m.  3Mn  ©tcagtro 


father  to  say,  that  Frederick  lay  at  death's  door ;  when 
down  came  the  old  gentleman  on  a  full  gallop  out  of 
the  North,  and  carried  him  at  all  hazards  out  of  the 
University :  but  his  removal  was  attended  with  certain 
difficulties,  which  threw  the  old  gentleman  into  some 
perplexities,  forasmuch  as  a  set  of  honest  worthy  men, 
who  lived  in  the  habits  of  trade  with  the  University, 
opposed  the  litter  in  a  close  body,  and  made  it  known 
to  Mr.  Decastro,  with  considerable  clamour,  how  un- 
willing they  were  to  part  with  their  old  acquaintance ; 
and  so  attached  were  they  to  the  poor  young  gentle- 
man in  the  litter,  that  Mr.  Decastro  could  by  no  means 
clear  the  road  of  them  until  such  time  as  he  had  dis- 
tributed drafts  on  his  banker  to  the  amount  of  seven 
hundred  pounds. 

Half  a  year  elapsed  before  Mr.  Decastro  got  his  son 
Frederick  on  his  legs  again ;  the  vigour  of  whose  con- 
stitution carried  the  point  at  last  against  both  medicine 
and  disease.  His  father  now  took  the  advantage  of 
the  return  of  health  to  read  him  a  lecture  in  moral 
philosophy.  Frederick  heard  the  peal  with  patience 
till  his  father  wrung  him  upon  his  debts? 

"Why,  sir,"  interrupted  he,  "would  you  have  me 
sneak  about  the  University  as  if  my  father  was  a  rat- 
catcher, or  consult  his  honour  and  credit  in  it,  and  live 
like  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"How  far  my  credit  was  consulted,"  quoth  Mr.  De- 
castro, "  in  an  arrest  in  one  of  the  most  public  streets 
in  the  University,  I  will  not  say." 

"But,"  interrupted  Frederick,  "what  father  ever  had 
so  fine  an  opportunity  to  shew  what  he  could  do  for  a 
son  in  distress  ?  your  name,  sir,  after  such  an  act,  will 
be  deathless  in  the  University." 
[207] 


%fyt  distort!  of  g&v.  Jloljn  SDecastro 

"  I  have  paid  pretty  dearly  for  my  immortality," 
quoth  Mr.  Decastro ;  "  and  now,  sir,  I  must  beg  to  tell 
you  in  your  ear,  that  since  you  cannot  make  your  al- 
lowance serve  you,  another  shall ;  for  not  one  penny 
shall  you  be  master  of  without  your  tutor's  knowledge 
and  consent,  to  whom,  in  future,  I  shall  pay  what 
money  I  please  to  allow,  and  make  Dr.  Remnant  the 
bearer  of  the  bag,  with  orders  to  bid  any  tradesman  in 
Oxford  trust  you  for  another  halfpenny  at  his  peril." 

This  speech  was  concluded  with  a  loud  report  of  the 
door  upon  the  old  gentleman's  going  off,  which  made 
Frederick's  ears  tingle  for  ten  minutes. 

After  a  pause— "Money  must  be  had,"  quoth  Fred- 
erick, keeping  his  eye  upon  the  door  as  if  he  expected 
his  father  would  return  upon  him — "  Money  must  be 
had :  a  man  had  as  good  live  among  devils  in  torments 
as  live  in  the  University  without  money.  My  father 
was  a  fool  not  to  make  my  tutor  my  cashkeeper  at 
first,  and  when  I  had  known  no  better:  this  is  my 
uncle's  advice :  my  father  was  put  in  the  head  of  it " — 
here  he  fell  to  cursing  Old  Crab  at  random.  "My 
blood  scalds  my  arteries  at  the  thought  of  asking  for 
every  penny,  like  a  beggar,  at  my  tutor's  door;  and, 
what  makes  bad  worse,  I  shall  be  laughed  at,  and  called 
a  young  bear  with  a  ring  in  his  nose — a  bridled  bear !  " 
— here  he  poured  forth  the  execrations  in  such  volleys 
as  if  he  had  swallowed  an  emetic  to  throw  the  oaths 
off  his  stomach  !  "What ! "  resumed  he,  "must  I  feel 
the  iron  of  a  tutor's  curb  ?  twitched  back  whenever  he 
pleases  to  pull  the  rein?  it  were  enough  to  make  a 
man's  heart  fester  in  his  body." 

Upon  this  he  took  two  or  three  turns  about  the 
library,  wherein  his  father  had  left  him  to  his  medita- 
[208] 


®\)t  tyiitoty  of  90u  31otm  H>eca0tro 

tions,  biting  his  nails  and  his  lips  by  turns,  and  then, 
as  if  he  pieced  out  a  sentence  half  made  in  his  mind— 
"  but  if  they  buckle  me  alive  on  a  gibbet  they  shall  be 

disappointed — if  I  wince  I'll  be "  here  he  fell  a- 

s wearing  again. 

At  this  moment  his  brother  Acerbus  came  into  the 
library;  "Frederick,"  said  he,  "you  are  to  return  with 
me  to  Oxford  to-morrow." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  quoth  he,  "I  love  Oxford,  and 
shall  be  glad  to  see  it  again." 

"  My  father  says,"  quoth  Acerbus — 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  Frederick,  interrupting  his  brother, 
"I  think  my  father's  plan  is  a  very  good  one;  money 
was  my  greatest  enemy,  and  my  tutor  is  now  to  fight 
my  battles  for  me ;  I  have  had  enough  of  it — money 
only  brings  a  man  duns:  when  people  know  I  have 
none,  they  will  let  me  eat  my  bread  in  quiet." 

So  on  the  morrow,  Frederick  and  Acerbus  returned 
to  Oxford. 
14 


[209] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro's  Motions  recorded  down  to  the  Present 
Time. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro,  sometime  used  to  their  sad- 
dles, trotted  on  without  any  loss  of  leather,  pleasantly 
enough :  she  spent  two  or  three  months  every  year  in 
London,  so  that  there  was  not  much  galling  upon  her 
part — no  plaster  wanted  there — no,  no,  no  plaster — 
no — how  could  that  be  while  she  sat  upon  a  soft  cushion 
in  the  gayest  city  in  the  world,  with  her  head  all  broke 
out  in  diamonds,  and  pearls  stuck  upon  her  hair  as 
thick  as  nits,  a  man  might  have  combed  out  a  handful, 
combed  where  he  would. — No,  no,  no  loss  of  leather 
there,  while  the  grand  castle  in  the  north  was  talked  of 
with  envy,  hatred  and  malice,  joy,  rapture  and  proud 
indignation. 

Well,  but  talking  is  but  talking  after  all ;  what  did 
she  do  in  London  to  make  folks  stare  ?  Had  she  a 
grand  house  in  a  grand  street  or  square  ?  Had  she 
half  a  score  roaring  impudent  rascals  with  gaudy  liver- 
ies upon  their  backs,  hired  to  kick  the  world  into  the 
kennel  whenever  she  came  forth  to  take  the  air  ? — no 
such  things :  she  had  her  waiting-maid,  and  only  one 
footman.  No  carriage  ?  no ;  she  used  her  friend  Mrs. 
Grove's  carriage,  at  whose  house  she  usually  resided — 
no  house !  no  equipage !  no  swearing  in  the  streets  at 
her  expense !  no  hurricanes !  no  earthquakes !  no  trem- 
bling of  the  globe  upon  its  axis  beneath  the  thunder  of 
[210] 


Ct)f  toistQty  of  £^r.  Jo\)\\  Decastro 

a  thousand  wheels  driving  to  her  balls,  concerts,  cards 
and  masquerades — Hold  hard  at  that— Mrs.  Decastro 
made  one  great  noise  every  time  she  came  to  town — 
she  borrowed  the  house  of  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  a 
noble  mansion,  and  crammed  it  with  human  flesh  and 
blood  until  the  walls  cracked,  and  crowds  were  suffo- 
cated, by  way  of  entertaining  her  friends — yes,  alas ! 
Lord  Budemere's  house,  who  could  no  longer  afford  to 
fill  it  himself,  poor  man,  there  had  been  too  many  fill- 
ings already  for  that ;  so  she  borrowed  his  house  and 
servants,  and  made  the  devil  of  one  night  of  it ;  and  if 
people  were  not  squeezed  as  thin  as  wafers  it  was  no 
fault  of  hers. 

Now  squeezing  is  a  sign  of  love,  and  she  gave  her 
friends  as  much  as  they  could  bear  of  it  one  night ; 
she  straightened  their  ribs  for  them ;  for  none  could 
stay  long  in  the  rooms  with  a  crooked  one,  there  was 
no  room  for  any  such  thing — room  !  a  man  could  not 
swallow  an  egg  but  it  was  squeezed  back  into  his  mouth 
again,  there  was  such  a  crowd !  folks  went  in  in  good 
clothes,  and  as  fine  as  hands  could  make  them,  but 
when  they  came  out  they  were  as  ragged  as  beggars, 
and  some  without  shoes  to  their  feet !  Poor  souls !  no 
sheaf  of  wheat  was  ever  worse  handled  in  a  thrashing 
mill,  than  a  man  or  a  woman  in  Mrs.  Decastro's  grand 
rout ;  this  was  what  she  called,  very  properly,  bringing 
her  friends  together. 

But  this  unexpected  breaking  out  of  the  Decastro 
family  into  new  glory,  when  it  was  fondly  hoped  their 
sun  would  shine  no  more,  when  they  were  thought  to 
be  sunk  into  eternal  darkness,  this  rising  again  with 
such  unlooked-for  splendour  did  worse  than  make  peo- 
ple's eyes  ache ;  the  reason  of  which  thing,  reader,  is 

[211] 


Qtfje  tetorf  of  S$i\  31oljn  SDecaatro 

this,  videlicet,  folks  think  that  the  more  A  shines  the 
less  B  is  seen,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  they  are  for 
putting  out  every  body's  candle  but  their  own. 

But  to  come  again  to  Mrs.  Decastro  flinging  her  glo- 
ries about  her  without  mercy,  all  this  blazing  soon 
brought  the  engines,  as  about  a  great  fire,  and  a  great 
deal  of  foul  water  was  squirted  at  her  from  various 
quarters :  some  said  she  shone  with  borrowed  lustre, 
borrowing,  as  she  did,  Lord  Budemere's  house  and  ser- 
vants to  help  out  her  show :  she  said  she  made  no  merit 
of  her  entertainments,  her  sole  object  was  to  do  the 
handsome  thing  by  her  friends ;  she  aimed  at  no  grand 
matter ;  if  her  friends  were  pleased  her  ends  were  an- 
swered, she  looked  to  no  other ;  neither  did  she  make 
use  of  her  acquaintance  as  the  building  materials  of  os- 
tentatious pomp ;  she  had  no  temples  of  fame  of  that 
sort  to  erect;  and  as  for  shining,  she  thought  they 
shone  the  brightest  who  made  no  fuss  about  shining  at 
all :  the  less  light  some  folks  had  about  them  the  bet- 
ter, for  it  only  shewed  others  what  great  fools  they 
were : — no,  no,  if  she  had  any  object  of  that  sort  in  view, 
she  should  not  borrow  other  people's  houses  to  give 
her  friends  a  little  music,  a  dance  or  a  supper :  some 
were  not  content  unless  they  called  thousands  into  a 
great  room  to  shew  them  what  fools  they  could  make 
of  themselves — peace  to  all  such — she  had  long  since 
been  taught  to  despise  these  follies :  she  came  to  town 
with  a  servant  or  two,  and  was  content  to  put  up  at  a 
friend's  house  in  a  very  private  way,  as  it  best  suited 
the  wife  of  a  ruined  man ;  and  though  her  entertain- 
ments were  the  most  magnificent  in  London,  she  made 
them  out  to  be  nothing  at  all :  if  any  praised  them, 
she  would  say,  it  were  a  thing  in  a  hired  room,  or  a 
[212] 


Clje  irisitovy  of  99r.  2J]ot)n  Decastro 

sandwich,  a  glass  of  wine  and  a  fiddle  in  a  borrowed 
house — her  friends  were  so  good  as  to  take  the  will  for 
the  deed — and  the  like,  when  an  entertainment  had 
cost  a  thousand  guineas. 

Mr.  Decastro  felt  a  little  gratification  in  this  at  a 
distance,  when  he  read  accounts  of  his  wife's  parties  in 
the  papers  in  a  snug  corner — Old  Crab  said  it  was  im- 
possible to  wash  all  the  dirt  out  of  a  mud  wall,  for 
there  must  needs  be  dirt  in  it  as  long  as  a  bit  of  the 
wall  were  left.  Mr.  Decastro,  however,  was  as  much 
changed,  as  a  thing  made  of  Mr.  Decastro's  materials 
could  be,  and  though  many  had  a  good  pull  at  him, 
none  could  ever  pull  him  out  of  the  old  castle  into  the 
world  again — this  was  Old  Crab's  doing,  and  it  may 
well  be  said  to  be  marvellous  in  our  eyes. 

But  we  must  now  turn  our  style  to  other  matters. — 
The  name  of  Grove  has  already  occurred  in  this  our 
history ;  we  shall  proceed  to  give  the  reader  some  ac- 
count of  this  family. 


[213] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Some  account  of  Mr.  Grove  and  his  Family. — The  pen  some' 
times  in  the  hands  of  Old  Comical,  and  sometimes  in  the 
hands  of  the  Solid  Gentleman. 

Mr.  Grove  was  a  very  old  friend  and  schoolfellow 
of  Mr.  Decastro,  a  very  quiet  man,  and  very  rarely 
spoke  one  loud  word — his  manner  was  to  carry  his  nose 
up  to  a  man's  ear,  and  deliver  all  he  had  to  say  into  it 
in  a  whisper.  Mr.  Grove  had  a  wife — where  on  earth 
could  he  have  picked  her  up  ? — Mr.  Grove  had  a  wife 
who  seldom  spoke  at  all,  but  made  use  of  signs  as  far 
as  signs  would  go,  like  one  born  dumb:  when  she 
wanted  wine,  or  gin,  rum,  brandy  or  queen's  water,  she 
would  point  at  the  bottle ;  when  she  wanted  tea  she 
would  point  at  the  canister ;  and  when  she  would  send 
for  the  gentlemen  into  the  drawing-room  after  dinner 
she  would  erect  a  finger  at  the  butler. 

One  day  when  her  maid  offended  her,  the  woman 
dashed  out  of  the  room  in  a  moment,  for  she  said  that 
her  mistress  put  on  a  terrible  frown  and  pointed  at  the 
poker. 

These  two  good  folks  coming  together,  somehow  or 
other  like  flint  and  steel,  struck  out  a  pretty  spark,  and 
called  his  name  George,  a  very  excellent  young  man, 
and,  being  an  only  child,  he  had  like  to  have  got  killed 
with  kindness — more  of  him  by-and-by. 

Mr.  Grove's  estates  lay  near  Mr.  Decastro's  fine  old 
castle,  and  he  lived  at  a  place  called  Hindermark,  a 
[«4] 


1E\)t  frmoty  of  Mt.  3fiotm  Drcastro 

noble  place,  well  known  to  all  in  the  north  of  England 
who  are  not  ignorant  of  it.  Mr.  Grove  was  glad  at 
heart  to  find  his  old  friend  and  schoolfellow  Decastro 
was  come  to  live  near  him,  and  he  cut  three  capers  the 
first  time  he  heard  of  it :  and  Mr.  Decastro  was  glad 
at  heart  to  find  that  he  and  his  old  friend  and  school- 
fellow, Grove,  were  such  near  neighbours,  and  he  cut 
three  more  capers  when  he  heard  of  it,  which  made  six 
capers  all  together. 

Mr.  Grove  had  a  fortune  of  twenty  thousand  pounds 
a  year,  which  some  give  as  one  reason  why  he  was  not 
a  poor  man,  and  it  may  be  a  good  one,  whatever  pri- 
vate doubts  some  may  entertain  of  the  matter,  for  some 
old  cunning  stagers  have  held  forth  that  they  are  not 
always  the  richest  men  who  have  got  the  most  money. 
Mr.  Grove,  however,  was  very  frugal,  and  never  paid 
away  a  shilling  without  looking  at  it  on  both  sides : 
but  he  kept  a  good  house,  and  called  his  friends  about 
him,  like  a  noble  gentleman,  both  in  town  and  country, 
notwithstanding;  but  he  hated  noise,  and  if  a  servant 
spoke  a  loud  word  he  would  ring  his  bell  and  ask  what 
was  the  matter.  When  he  and  his  wife  came  to  a  quar- 
rel it  was  always  carried  on  o'  both  sides  by  signs  and 
motions,  which  grew  at  times  so  vehement  in  every 
part  of  their  bodies  that  was  movable  that  they  seemed 
to  a  looker-on  like  two  people  in  strong  convulsions : 
by  the  time  all  was  over  they  had  usually  perspired  so 
much  that  they  were  fain  to  call  for  a  change  of  linen : 
but  of  this  thus  far. 

Old  Crab  was  the  first  man  to  bring  Mr.  Grove  the 
news  that  his  brother  was  coming  to  live  in  the  old 
castle. 

"  Mr.  Bartholomew,"  quoth  Mr.  Grove,  running  his 
["5] 


tEtye  J?i0tot£  of  $r.  31oljn  SDecaatro 

long  nose  into  Old  Crab's  wig,  "  Mr.  Bartholomew,  it 
gives  me  great  joy  to  hear  of  this  matter,"  whereupon 
Mr.  Grove  cut  his  three  capers  as  aforesaid. 

" Master  Grove,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "what  the  devil 
ails  ye  ? " 

"  My  joy  has  given  me  a  motion,  Mr.  Bartholomew," 
whispered  Mr.  Grove;  "my  joy  has  given  me  a  little 
motion,  that  is  all,"  pulling  his  long  nose  on  one  side 
with  his  right  hand  to  get  nearer  to  Old  Crab's  ear. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  Mr.  Grove  had  his  nose  in 
his  hand  when  Mrs.  Grove  came  into  the  room — yes, 
Mr.  Grove  had  his  nose  in  his  hand  when  Mrs.  Grove 
came  into  the  room,  for  it  stood  forth  like  a  long  pole 
of  flesh  to  the  length  of  six  inches  straight  out  of  the 
middle  of  his  face. 

"  Sugar  of  my  life,"  quoth  Mr.  Grove  to  his  spouse, 
walking  up  to  his  wife  with  his  nose  in  his  hand,  and 
blowing  the  hairs  off  her  ear  for  the  better  conveniency 
of  whispering,  "  sugar  of  my  life,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Bar- 
tholomew Decastro,  here,  comes  to  tell  us  the  good 
news  of  my  old  friend  John's  coming  to  live  at  Oaken 
Grove — " 

"  Why  the  plague  can't  ye  speak  out,"  thundered  Old 
Crab ;  "  there's  always  such  a  whizzing  and  whispering 
amongst  ye,  as  if  ye  had  got  something  in  your  heads 
that  ye  were  ashamed  of,  speak  out !  " 

"  Mr.  Bartholomew,"  said  Mr.  Grove,  "  we  shall  be 
exceedingly  glad  to  see  you  to  dine  with  us  upon  this 
good  news  to-day.  There  was  not  any  mischief  done 
by  your  brother  John  when  he  was  a  boy  for  ten  years 
together  but  I  had  a  hand  in  it,  Mr.  Bartholomew ;  not 
an  old  woman  turned  at  night  with  her  lanthorn  bottom 
upwards  to  the  stars,  but  I  laid  hold  of  one  leg,  and 
[2.6] 


W$t  Jjistoip  of  £0t.  31otm  Decastro 

John,  my  good  friend  John,  laid  hold  on  the  other ;  no 
duck  knocked  on  the  head  but  John  and  I  each  threw 
a  stone  at  the  same  time ;  no  dog  canistered  but  I  held 
his  tail  while  John,  my  friend  John,  tied  on  the  canis- 
ter: ah,  good  Mr.  Bartholomew,  you  must  dine  with  us 
upon  this  good  news  to-day,  yes,  indeed — "  upon  which 
Mrs.  Grove  pointed  to  a  chair,  which  was  as  good  as  to 
beg  Old  Crab  to  sit  down. 

"  I  shall  be  starved  to  death  before  your  dinner  is 
ready,"  quoth  Old  Crab ;  "  what  time  d'ye  dine,  Mas- 
ter Grove  ? " 

Mrs.  Grove  held  up  three  fingers,  which  was  as  good 
as  to  say  they  dined  that  day  at  three  o'clock. 

"  Well,  well,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  I  am  going  round 
to  some  of  John's  tenants ;  we  have  some  old  leases 
falling  in  this  Michaelmas,  we  must  try  to  give  them  a 
hoist,  ha,  Mr.  Grove,  you  understand  me,  the  scoun- 
drels have  got  as  fat  as  hogs  upon  these  old  rents  :— 
I'll  call  and  eat  a  bit  of  victuals  with  ye  when  I  come 
back ; — and  d'ye  hear  ?  bid  your  butler  put  some  toast 
and  nutmeg  into  a  tankard  of  that  strong  beer  I  drank 
of  t'other  morning,  I  should  like  a  hair  of  the  old  dog, 
Master  Grove." 

And  Old  Crab  was  as  good  as  his  word,  for  punctu- 
ally at  three  o'clock,  aye,  while  Mr.  Grove's  turret- 
clock  was  a-striking,  the  Old  Crop  mare  trotted  up  to 
the  house  with  Old  Crab  upon  her  back  and  a  foal  run- 
ning by  her  side,  and  stood  very  quiet  at  the  gate  while 
she  got  rid  of  Old  Crab  on  one  side  and  gave  her  foal 
suck  on  the  other. 

"Take  care  of  the  mare  and  colt,"  quoth  Old  Crab 
to  the  groom,  who  came  running  in  his  scarlet  and  gold 
jacket,  "  take  care  of  the  mare  and  colt,  you  gold-laced 
[217] 


tEljc  fyistoty  of  fl9r.  31oljn  SDecaatro 

rascal,  or  I'll  embroider  'your  back  with  my  cudgel  and 
give  the  tailor  a  new  pattern  for  the  next  livery." 

We  have  no  time  to  break  out  sideways  and  tell  long 
stories,  but  Old  Crab  had  picked  up  the  groom  that 
ran  in  for  his  mare,  naked  as  he  lay  upon  a  dunghill,  in 
London,  thrown  there  and  deserted  by  his  mother  in 
one  of  her  good  humours  to  take  his  chance  for  a  nurse 
of  a  better  temper — yes — called  by  his  cries,  picked 
him  up,  wrapped  the  baby  in  his  handkerchief,  and  put 
him  into  his  great  coat  pocket ;  the  lad,  knowing  Old 
Crab's  way,  smiled  while  Old  Crab  shook  his  oaken 
towel  over  his  head,  and  had  little  need  be  bid  to  take 
care  of  Old  Crop  and  her  foal,  for  he  owed  Old  Crab 
quite  as  much  as  he  could  ever  pay  if  he  lived  to  the 
age  of  Methuselah. 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Bartholomew,"  said  Mr.  Grove,  when 
he  came  in,  "  you  have  not  been  beating  poor  Will,  he 
is  one  of  the  best  lads  in  the  world." 

"  No,  no,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  I've  done  the  scoundrel 
no  hurt,  not  I." 

"  If  you  were  to  see  the  lad  weep,  and  hear  him  call 
you  his  kind  father,  as  poor  Will  often  does  in  my 
presence,  I  am  sure  you  would  not  hurt  him,"  said  Mr. 
Grove. 

"  He  comes  after  one  of  my  wenches,"  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "and  makes  the  baggage  as  idle  as  she  can  hang 
together,  I'll  break  his  bones  next  time  I  catch  him  in 
my  kitchen.  —Your  second  bell  has  rung,  why  the 
devil  don't  your  villains  bring  in  the  victuals  ?  " 

At  that  moment  the  butler,  with  four  or  five  more 
servants  at  his  tail,  came  in  with  the  dinner;  they  all 
smiled  at  the  sight  of  Old  Crab  for  some  reason  or 
other,  who  seized  a  knife  and  fork  and  put  half  a  pound 

[218] 


tEljc  iiMStorv  of  Wr.  Jloljn  srxrcastro 

of  boiled  beef  upon  bis  plate  the  moment  after  he  had 
said  grace. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over  Old  Crab,  at  the  earnest 
desire  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove,  gave  a  very  particular 
account  of  all  he  had  done  for  his  brother  John,  at 
which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove  expressed  great  satisfaction. 

Mr.  Grove's  son  George,  who  went  to  Eton  school 
with  Mr.  Decastro's  two  boys,  Frederick  and  Acerbus, 
was  then  at  home : — what  is  he  pulled  in  at  this  place 
for  ?  To  put  the  reader  in  mind  that  there  was  such  a 
person,  and  likewise  to  say  that  he  was  sent  to  the 
University  with  Mr.  Decastro's  two  sons,  and  also  that 
he  was  always  a  good  boy,  and  minded  his  book,  and 
did  as  he  was  bid : — there  was  a  son !  when  comes  there 
such  another? 


[219J 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

How  matters  went  on  with  Mr.  Decastro's  two  Cockle-shells 
at  the  University — how  Acerbus,  the  youngest,  was  called 
the  Philosopher — how  Frederick,  the  eldest,  fired  a  brace 
of  balls  at  his  Brother,  left  Oxford  and  the  stink  of  Gun- 
powder behind  him.  —  The  pen  in  the  hands  of  the  Solid 
Gentleman,  with  now  and  then  a  dash  from  Old  Comical, 
when  the  Solid  Gentleman  was  fain  to  step  forth  upon 
his  needs. 

Here  followeth  an  account  of  Mr.  Decastro's  two 
sons,  and  what  they  did  at  the  University. 

What  a  pity  it  is  that  a  man  cannot  go  to  a  shop  and 
bespeak  a  child,  and  give  orders  how  he  would  have 
him  made!  and,  if  he  did  not  like  the  work  after  it  was 
done,  what  a  pity  it  is  that  he  could  not  send  him  back 
to  be  altered  !  what  a  devil  of  a  pulling  to  pieces  there 
would  be !  how  much  work  would  be  unripped !  what 
alterations  in  soul  and  body  before  a  man  could  get  a 
child  to  his  mind !  But,  as  matters  are,  fathers  and 
mothers  must  e'en  take  children  rough  as  they  run, 
half  man  half  angel,  half  man  half  devil,  and  'tis  well  if 
half  and  half  can  be  got  in  the  thing.  O  Lord  !  a  man 
had  better  hire  himself  out  to  a  pastry-cook,  and  make 
giblet  pies  all  his  life,  than  have  any  hand  in  such  an 
odd  composition ! — But  the  earth  must  be  peopled  and 
be- 
As  soon  as  Frederick's  tutor,  Dr.  Remnant,  heard 
of  the  arrival  of  his  hopeful  pupil,  he  sent  for  him  to 
his  pupil-rooms,  and  gave  him  to  understand  that  he 

[■«o.] 


(Etjc  foistoip  of  $r.  3]oI)n  Dccascro 

and  his  money  were  to  be  parted  until  further  orders, 
read  him  a  long  lecture  upon  vice  and  extravagance, 
and  issued  a  programma  that  any  tradesman  in  the 
University  should  put  his  name  in  his  books  at  his 
peril.  Upon  Frederick's  leaving  the  pupil-room  the 
doctor  put  five  shillings  into  his  hands,  and  bade  him 
not  spend  it  all  at  once  for  fear  he  should  make  him- 
self sick.  Frederick  made  his  bow  and  left  the  room 
jingling  the  five  shillings  between  his  fingers.  He  felt 
vexed  at  heart,  but  made  a  countenance  as  if  nothing 
were  the  matter,  and  had  the  dexterity  to  lay  his  plans 
so  far  under  water  as  to  leave  a  smooth  surface,  so  that 
none  could  guess  where  he  had  sunk  his  works. 

He  began  by  putting  the  best  leg  foremost  on  his 
way  to  reform,  and  grew  all  on  a  sudden  so  different  a 
thing  from  what  he  had  been,  that  some  thought  him 
out  of  his  wits :  and  he  so  carried  matters  as  to  baffle 
the  officious  malice  of  his  tutor,  who  had  not  a  new- 
rod  put  into  his  hands  for  nothing,  by  drawing  an 
odium  upon  Dr.  Remnant  upon  the  score  of  too  severe 
a  treatment  of  a  penitent  person.  In  the  mean  time  he 
consulted  one  Corduba,  a  Jew,  upon  the  one  thing 
needful,  who,  having  made  due  inquiries  into  the  na- 
ture and  extent  of  his  father's  property,  made  no  scru- 
ple to  grant  supplies  of  money  to  Frederick  from  time 
to  time  under  certain  securities.  Upon  this  Frederick 
fell  to  sinner  it  in  private,  and  saint  it  in  public,  and 
went  so  far  as  a  regular  attendance  on  prayers  and 
lectures  required  him,  avoided  much  wine,  at  such  time 
as  there  were  like  to  be  any  danger  of  being  seen 
drunk,  and  kept  some  things  with  caps  on  their  heads 
at  some  distance  from  the  University. 

Frederick  now  began  to  breathe  fresh  air  upon  his 

[221] 


tEtjc  fyi&tovy  of  spr.  3iotm  Dtcasti'o 

successes,  and  so  managed  the  thing  as  to  get  the  pity 
of  all  to  himself,  and  his  father  and  tutor  all  the  blame. 
After  a  little  time  the  doctor  got  stung  by  hints  and  in- 
nuendoes, and  he  sent  for  Frederick  one  day  and  spake 
as  follows :  "  Your  conduct  of  late,  sir,  has  been  such 
as  to  gain  my  approbation ;  you  have  been  very  regular 
in  both  public  and  private  lectures,  attended  prayers 
in  chapel,  and  I  have  not  seen  you  drunk  these  two 
months."  Upon  which  the  doctor  put  five  guineas 
into  Frederick's  hand  by  way  of  reward  for  having 
been  a  good  boy. 

"I  should  hate  myself,"  said  Frederick,  in  anger,  "if 
I  could  take  any  reward  for  doing  well !  "  upon  which 
he  flung  the  guineas  slap-dash  upon  the  floor,  some  of 
which  danced  into  his  tutor's  lap  as  he  sat  at  his  desk, 
and  left  the  room  in  great  indignation. 

Dr.  Remnant  upon  this  immediately  wrote  to  his 
father  to  tell  him  the  good  news,  but  Frederick,  though 
very  much  pressed,  would  not  go  home  with  his  brother 
at  the  next  vacation.  He  would  appear  no  more,  he 
said,  in  the  presence  of  his  parents  until  he  had  expi- 
ated his  past  conduct  by  a  voluntary  banishment :  say 
what  they  would,  no  entreaties,  no  prayers,  no  tears 
could  bring  him  to  the  castle;  another,  and  another, 
and  another  vacation  came,  but  no  Frederick ;  he  punc- 
tually sent  his  love  and  duty  by  Acerbus  to  his  father 
and  mother,  but  no  forgiveness,  no  offers  of  pardon,  no 
powers  of  persuasion  could  bring  Frederick  back  again 
to  Oaken  Grove. 

Acerbus  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  could  see  as  far 

into  a  mill-stone  as  another  could    thrust   his  nose: 

books  and  he  were  always  together,  for  he  took  them 

to  bed  with  him,  which  was  a  proof  of  the  strength  of 

[  222  ] 


C^c  tnscorv  of  £pr.  Jotm  Drcastro 

his  appetite — he  had  a  lamp  ever  burning  in  his  room, 
and  if  he  awoke  in  the  night  he  fell  to  reading  that 
moment.  He  not  only  grew  to  be  the  best  scholar  of 
his  day,  but  the  wonder  of  the  University  for  his  learn- 
ing, his  virtues  and  his  oddities.  Some  called  him  a 
monster  because  he  was,  as  folks  were  fain  to  think, 
without  a  fault — to  say  the  truth,  a  better  young  man 
could  scarcely  be,  or  one  more  eccentric.  If  some 
called  him  the  monster,  most  called  him  the  philoso- 
pher; so  when  any  said  "  Here  comes  the  philosopher," 
or  "thus  said  the  philosopher,"  or,  "I  was  talking  with 
the  philosopher,"  all  knew  of  whom  men  spake.  In 
person  he  was  a  very  large  stout  man  and  had  a  fine 
Roman  countenance,  and  his  face  was  as  red  and  as 
round  as  a  cricket-ball.  What  business  had  a  studious 
man  with  such  a  red  face  ?  He  portioned  out  his  time, 
reader,  to  exercise  as  well  as  study,  well  knowing  that 
the  health  of  the  body  and  the  health  of  the  mind,  like 
twin  cherries,  grew  upon  the  same  stalk. 

But  our  philosopher  had  nigh  got  shot  through  the 
body  upon  the  following  occasion ;  videlicet,  he  called 
upon  his  brother  Frederick  one  morning,  and  fell  to 
question  him,  in  the  Socratic  manner  in  which  he 
usually  argued,  upon  his  sudden  reformation,  and,  after 
a  little  time,  drew  him  into  some  contradictions,  which 
put  Frederick  into  a  violent  passion.  The  philosopher 
so  managed  the  matter  as  to  make  his  brother  think  he 
had  made  some  discoveries,  for,  to  say  the  truth,  the 
philosopher  had  some  time  had  his  suspicions  that  all 
things  were  not  quite  right  in  Frederick :  after  a  few 
artful  questions,  which  poor  Frederick  was  wofully  at  a 
loss  to  know  what  to  do  with,  or  how  well  to  get  rid  of, 
the  philosopher,  seeing  Frederick's  alarm,  asked  him : 
[223] 


W$t  piston?  of  spr.  3flol)tt  3SDecastro 

"  How  comes  it,  brother,  that  now  you  are  grown 
good  you  exist  in  the  midst  of  fears  and  apprehensions, 
when,  being  bad,  you  were  afraid  of  nothing  ?  is  it  that 
you  would  seem  to  be  what  you  are  not,  and  so  the  fear 
of  discovery  teazes  you  with  alarms  ?  " 

"  Discovery ! "  said  Frederick,  "  what  discovery  have 
you  made,  sir  ? " 

"Why,"  said  the  philosopher,  "that  you  are  afraid 
something  had  been  discovered,  which  is  a  sign  you 
have  something  to  hide:  now,  answer  me,  brother, 
what  is  it  that  a  man  had  rather  hide,  a  good  thing  or 
a  bad  thing  ? " 

"Why,"  said  Frederick,  "a  bad  thing,  for  all  are 
ready  to  show  a  good  one." 

"It  is  well  said,"  quoth  the  philosopher,  "but  has 
any  man  any  reason  to  fear  lest  he  be  discovered  to 
be  a  better  man  than  we  take  him  to  be  ?  " 

"Certainly  none  at  all,"  said  Frederick. 

"  But  if  he  hath  any  bad  thing  in  himself  he  has  rea- 
son enough  then  to  be  afraid  lest  we  find  him  out  to  be 
a  worse  man  than  he  seems  to  be? " 

"Yes,"  said  Frederick. 

"  Is  it  true  then,"  quoth  the  philosopher,  "  that  when 
any  bad  thing  be  in  a  man  and  he  fain  would  conceal 
it,  that  there  is  no  cause  for  any  alarm  lest  that  bad 
thing  be  discovered  in  him ;  but  when  a  good  thing  be 
in  a  man,  the  terror  lest  it  be  found  in  him  fills  him 
with  consternation  ? " 

"This  is  a  fine  question,"  said  Frederick; — "why  a 
man  who  has  any  good  in  him  need  neither  fear,  nor 
show  signs  of  fear  lest  it  be  discovered." 

" Remember,  brother,"  said  the  philosopher,  "it  is 
you  that  affirm  these  things,  and  that  it  is  I  that  only 
[224  I 


Ct)t  J?tBtorf  of  spr.  J]ot)n  Drcastro 

ask  the  questions. — We  are  agreed  then,"  continued 
he,  "  that  it  is  the  bad  man  only  who  hath  some  ill 
thing  to  hide  that  shows  signs  of  alarm  lest  that  ill  thing 
be  discovered  ? " 

Frederick  saw  that  the  philosopher  was  drawing  him 
into  a  snare,  but  where  it  lay,  or  how  to  avoid  it,  know- 
ing the  stake  he  had,  called  for  his  best  lookout :  "  Cer- 
tainly," said  he,  "  the  last  must  be  true,  for  nobody  was 
ever  hardy  enough  to  deny  it." 

"That  may  be  a  reason,"  quoth  the  philosopher, 
"  and  yet  a  man  may  be  deceived ;  or  why  should  you 
be  afraid  lest  any  good  thing  be  discovered  in  you  ?  " 

Frederick  upon  this  grew  pettish,  and  said  that  he 
would  not  answer  for  what  lies  might  have  been  told. 

"What  reason,"  quoth  the  philosopher,  "have  you  to 
suspect  any  lie  to  be  told  ?  and,  let  there  be  a  lie  told, 
what  then  ?  The  good  have  lies  told  of  them  as  well  as 
the  bad,  nay,  rather,  for  bad  men  are  most  willing  to 
calumniate  the  good,  and  it  often  happens  that  the 
more  a  man  is  belied  the  better  he  is ;  so,  if  to  be  be- 
lied be  a  sign  of  merit,  you  need  not  be  uneasy  on  that 
head :  and,  if  I  am  told  you  play  the  mask  upon  us,  for 
instance,  and  throw  yourself  out  for  the  thing  which 
you  are  not,  you  are  nevertheless  the  thing  you  are, 
notwithstanding  any  uneasiness  you  may  feel  to  be 
found  to  be  better  than  you  are  thought  to  be." 

"  Thought  to  be !  "  said  Frederick,  with  consider- 
able warmth,  "thought  to  be  what  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  the  philosopher,  "you  have  confessed, 
and  put  yourself  into  a  great  pucker  at  the  same  time, 
that  when  a  man  is  conscious  of  no  ill  thing  in  himself 
he  shows  no  signs  of  distress,  then  what  makes  you, 
brother,  in  such  a  taking?  Symptoms  will  attend  a 
15  [225] 


t&\)t  tpttftor?  of  spr.  31ol)it  Drcastro 

disease,  sometimes,  which  no  patient  can  conceal;  if 
a  man  be  really  bad  and  would  bear  himself  out  to  be 
good,  and  suffer  signs  of  evil  to  break  out,  he  hath 
cither  got  more  devil  in  him  than  he  can  manage,  or  is 
an  undergraduate  in  hypocrisy." 

"Pray,  sir,"  said  Frederick,  with  a  terrible  oath,  "do 
you  take  me  for  a  hypocrite  ?  " 

"  I  take  you  to  be,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  no  more 
and  no  less  than  you  have  confessed  yourself  to  be : 
have  you  not  named  the  disease  and  the  symptoms  by 
which  it  is  known  ?  " 

"  I  have  great  reason  to  suspect  that  you  have  picked 
up  some  lie,"  said  Frederick,  and  hesitated. 

"A  lie!"  said  the  philosopher,  "what,  something 
said  in  your  praise  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Sneerer,"  said  Frederick  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  though  a  lie  may  be  told  in  it,  I  do  not  mean  so." 

"  If  one  told  me  that  you  were  a  great  hypocrite," 
said  the  philosopher,  "  were  that  a  lie  told  to  your  dis- 
credit ? " 

"The  devil  is  in  it  if  it  were  not,"  said  Frederick, 
pacing  about  the  room. 

"  What ! "  said  the  philosopher,  "  if  you  played  the 
hypocrite  with  great  wit  and  skill  ?  or  in  so  clumsy  a 
way  as  to  be  found  out  to  be  an  impostor  ?  for  if  any 
said  that  you  had  great  wit  and  skill,  were  that  to  your 
discredit  ?  Put  the  case,  for  instance,  that  you  wore 
one  face  at  Oxford  and  another  face  at  Abington — " 

The  naming  of  this  town  was  accidental  in  the  phi- 
losopher ;  it  happened  to  be  the  place,  however,  where 
Frederick  kept  his  mistress,  and  laid  the  scene  of  all 
his  debaucheries : — the  spark  fell  at  once  into  the  mid- 
dle of  Frederick's  combustibles,  he  flamed  out  in  a 
[226] 


Stjf  H?iBtorp  of  ^r.  31oljtt  E>fcastto 

moment,  and,  discharging  a  tremendous  volley  of  oaths, 
he  ran  to  his  escritoir,  from  which  he  took  a  brace  of 
loaded  pistols,  and  throwing  one  across  the  table  to  the 
philosopher,  said: 

"  If  you  alone,  and  I  suspect  none  other,  have  found 
out  what  I  am,  and  what  my  father's  severities  have 
forced  me  to  be,  I  have  yet  a  chance — take  that  pistol, 
sir,  the  luck  will  be  yours  or  mine;  if  mine,  no  tales 
will  be  told ;  if  yours,  I  shall  not  be  in  the  way  to  hear 
them ! " 

Saying  which,  he  ran  up  within  the  table's  length  of 
his  brother,  and  fired  at  the  philosopher,  who  received 
a  brace  of  balls  in  a  folio  edition  of  Plato's  works, 
which  he  had  just  time  to  interpose  by  way  of  shield, 
and  saved  his  life  thereby ;  for,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
interposition  of  a  brother  philosopher,  Acerbus  had 
been  shot  through  the  body.  He  instantly  laid  hands 
on  Frederick,  and  disarmed  him  of  the  other  pistol, 
which  he  had  seized  to  make  a  second  shot  at  his 
brother,  and  coolly  taking  Plato  under  his  arm,  called 
on  Dr.  Remnant,  and  told  him  a  story  which  turned 
the  doctor  into  stone. 

Upon  the  doctor's  return  to  flesh  and  blood,  he  took 
the  book,  and,  upon  examining  Plato,  found  the  bullets 
had  penetrated  as  far  as  that  divine  philosopher's  dia- 
logue upon  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

Frederick,  as  soon  as  his  brother  left  the  room,  saw 
no  time  was  to  be  lost,  so  packed  a  portmanteau  with 
what  clothes  and  money  he  had,  and  made  all  speed 
out  of  the  University.  He  took  the  Abington  road, 
and,  getting  into  Bagley  wood,  made  a  halt  in  a  thick 
part  of  it,  and  fell  to  plot  his  future  conduct.  As  good 
luck  befel  he  had  just  received  a  supply  of  money  from 
[227] 


tElie  piston?  of  $®x.  31ol)n  SDecastro 

the  Jew,  amounting  to  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds, 
which  was,  within  a  few  pounds,  all  he  had  at  present 
to  subsist  upon.  As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  he  crept  out 
of  his  hiding-place,  and  made  the  best  of  his  way  to 
Abington. 


[228] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

What  became  of  Frederick— How  he  met  with  Colonel  Barret 
— His  success  at  a  Gaming  house — How  he  discovered  a 
trick  at  Cards. 

Upon  reading  over  our  last  chapter,  we  find  that 
there  is  a  little  mortar  wanted  here  and  there  to  fill  up 
a  chink  or  two  in  the  building.  To  apply  the  trowel  to 
the  proper  places — Frederick,  as  soon  as  he  had  shot 
at  his  brother,  saw  him  instantly  put  his  hand  to  his 
bosom !  for  the  book,  which  he  held  out  as  a  shield, 
was  driven  with  great  force  against  him  by  the  impetu- 
osity of  the  bullets,  and  gave  him  some  pain  from  the 
violence  with  which  it  had  recoiled  upon  his  stomach : 
Frederick,  therefore,  took  it  for  granted  that  he  had 
wounded  his  brother,  and  as  soon  as  he  went  out  he 
fell  to  barricade  the  door,  and  opened  a  back  window, 
the  iron  bars  of  which  he  had  made  to  lock  and  unlock 
at  his  pleasure,  to  be  ready  to  leap  out  if  he  found  his 
castle  besieged:  all  being  quiet  he  packed  his  port- 
manteau as  aforesaid,  but  upon  buckling  the  last  buckle 
of  it  he  heard  one  knock  at  the  door,  and  demand  ad- 
mittance. Frederick  knew  his  tutor's  voice  in  a  mo- 
ment, but,  not  being  quite  prepared  for  the  lecture  he 
expected,  he  threw  his  portmanteau  out  at  the  window, 
leaped  out  after  it,  and,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  got 
clear  out  of  the  University  without  any  questions 
asked,  or  meeting  any  body  that  took  much  notice  of 
him.     He  then  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Bagley 

[229] 


<£lje  J?i0toi*v  of  a&n  3|otjn  2Dtxastro 

wood,  where  he  hid  himself,  as  we  observed  at  the  heel 
of  the  last  chapter,  until  night,  when  hunger  and  an 
eager  desire  to  make  his  escape,  brought  him  out  of  his 
hole,  and  he  proceeded  to  Abington.  As  soon  as  he 
came  into  the  town  he  went  immediately  to  his  mis- 
tress's lodgings,  who  informed  him,  to  his  no  small 
consternation,  that  his  brother  had  died  that  day  of  his 
wounds.  Frederick,  when  he  had  a  little  recovered 
from  the  blow,  for  this  dreadful  intelligence  almost 
knocked  him  down,  began  to  inquire  into  particulars, 
knowing  that  it  was  not  quite  impossible  that  Fame 
might  have  told  a  lie  once  in  her  life.  The  woman 
said,  that  her  sister  had  come  from  Oxford  that  day 
and  told  her  the  whole  story,  who  would  not  deceive 
her,  or  be  deceived  herself,  for  she  had  her  intelligence 
from  one  of  the  scouts  of  his  own  college ;  she  very 
earnestly  begged  him  therefore  to  make  his  escape  out 
of  Abington  as  soon  as  possible :  upon  which  a  post- 
chaise  was  sent  for,  and  Frederick,  putting  his  mistress, 
his  portmanteau  and  himself  therein,  set  off  with  all 
speed  for  London. 

He  had  not  been  many  days  in  town  before  he  fell 
among  thieves,  a  thing  that  can  scarcely  be  believed  in 
so  honest  a  place ;  where  a  man  may  hang  his  purse 
full  of  money  upon  a  nail  at  Temple-bar,  and  come  and 
find  it  as  safe  there  the  next  morning  as  the  next  min- 
ute. Notwithstanding,  however,  that  such  a  thing  as 
a  thief  was  never  heard  of  in  London,  Frederick  made 
shift  to  fall  among  a  great  many,  who,  being  very  well 
aware  of  the  sanctity  of  the  metropolis,  were  fain  to 
put  on  the  exterior  of  good  and  honest  men  to  be  like 
other  people. 

The  first  he  met  with  was  Colonel  Barret,  whose 
[23°] 


<El)r  history  of  a3r.  3iol)n  Dccastro 

name  has  already  appeared  in  this  our  history:  now 
the  colonel  was  a  gambler,  and  a  very  wise  man:  now 
to  be  wise  is  to  know  things,  and  among  sundry  others 
the  colonel  knew  this,  viz.,  that  a  time  must  come  when 
Frederick's  father  must  leave  to  another  what  he  could 
no  longer  keep  himself,  at  which  time,  should  he  live 
to  see  the  day,  Frederick  would  come  to  be  a  bird 
worth  his  plucking. 

The  colonel  met  him  at  a  coffee-house,  ordered  his 
dinner  to  be  put  upon  Frederick's  table,  shook  him 
well  by  the  hand,  asked  how  all  his  friends  did  in  the 
north,  for  he  was  an  old  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Decas- 
tro's,  and  he  and  Frederick  soon  grew  to  be  cod-fish 
and  oyster-sauce,  that  is  to  say,  reader,  they  relished 
mighty  well  together. 

"  Freddy,"  quoth  the  colonel,  "  I  remember  thee  in 
thy  nurse's  arms,  and  have  danced  thee  upon  my  knee 
many  a  time  before  thy  dad  took  his  freak  and  ran  into 
the  north : — he  has  played  us  a  fine  trick  with  his 
sham  bankruptcy: — but  I  say,  Freddy,  what  brought 
thee  from  Oxford  to  town  in  term  time  ? " 

Frederick  then  said  he  had  come  to  a  quarrel  with  a 
/w/V^r-collegian,  and  had  fought  a  duel,  and  thought 
it  were  expedient  to  be  absent  until  matters  could  be 
adjusted,  for  he  had  wounded  his  man  severely,  and  his 
life  was  despaired  of. 

The  colonel  said  it  was  a  dangerous  thing  for  boys  to 
play  with  fire,  and  then  asked  him  if  he  had  got  any 
money  in  his  pockets?  if  not,  he  would  supply  him 
with  what  he  wanted  as  long  as  he  staid  in  town  upon 
a  little  bit  of  post  obit  paper.  After  dinner  he  took  him 
to  a  gaming-house.  Frederick  had  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  in  his  pocket,  which  was  all  he  possessed  in  the 
[23i] 


Wt)t  tytetorp  of  tyt.  31o|jn  SDccastro 

world ;  upon  this,  after  a  little  looking  on,  he  sat  down 
to  play,  and  skinned  a  young  nobleman,  who  must  be 
nameless,  of  an  estate  worth  eight  hundred  pounds  a- 
year.  At  that  very  moment  he  was  taken  extremely  ill, 
carried  out  of  the  room  by  four  men,  and  put  into  a 
hackney  coach  with  orders  to  be  driven  to  his  lodgings. 
As  soon  as  the  coach  drove  off,  Frederick,  all  on  a 
sudden,  came  to  be  as  well  as  ever  he  was  in  his  life, 
bade  the  coachman  tack  about  and  drive  him  to  Mr. 
Petticraft  the  solicitor's  chambers.  Now  it  came  to 
pass  that  Frederick,  by  Mr.  Petticraft's  help,  got  hold 
of  the  estate  aforesaid  by  the  handle ;  that  is,  the  right 
thing  to  hold  it  by,  and  went  no  more  to  the  gaming- 
house ; — no — he  went  to  see  his  estate  instead,  which 
he  never  might  have  seen,  perhaps,  if  he  had  gone  back 
to  the  gaming-house;  so,  ordering  a  post-chaise,  and 
putting  his  mistress,  his  portmanteau  and  himself 
therein,  away  he  went,  in  jolly  ostentation,  to  see  his 
estate  and  visit  his  tenants  in  the  country.  He  shewed 
the  farmer  his  title-deeds,  told  him  he  had  bought  the 
property,  let  the  tenant  a  new  lease,  the  old  one  being 
worn  out,  and  raised  the  farm  to  a  thousand  a-year. 
After  which  he  shook  his  tail,  received  half  a  year's 
rent,  and  he,  his  mistress  and  his  portmanteau  returned 
to  London. 

Received  half  a  year's  rent!  why,  he  had  been  in 
possession  but  a  few  days — how  the  devil  could  that 
be  ?  Reader,  we  have  no  mind  thou  shouldest  bite  our 
nose  off — the  last  half  year  happened  to  come  due 
while  Frederick  was  at  his  tenant's  house,  so  he  took 
the  money,  and  gave  the  farmer  a  receipt  for  it.  Sup- 
pose we  happen  to  make  a  blunder,  reader,  canst 
thou  not  pass  it  by  without  roaring  like  a  bull  at 
[232] 


^tjr  totoiy  of  at)r.  3f|otm  SDccastro 

a  blue  blanket  ?  Let  folks  find  faults  for  them- 
selves. 

The  colonel,  who,  in  the  mean  time,  it  seems,  had 
heard  of  Frederick's  good  luck  at  play,  came  into  the 
old  coffee-room,  and  found  him  at  dinner  in  it. 

"What,"  said  Barret,  "have  you  found  Oxford  too 
hot  to  hold  you,  or  are  you  come  back  to  try  if  any 
more  estates  are  to  be  picked  up  at  Hazard  ? " 

Frederick,  who  had  a  pretty  knack  at  reading  a  man's 
thoughts  in  his  face,  laughed,  and  said  he  had  a  mind 
to  see  how  long  it  would  be  before  he  found  matters 
out. 

Barret  called  him  a  sly  dog,  ordered  his  dinner  on 
Frederick's  table,  and,  taking  him  now  to  be  grown  a 
little  more  worth  his  notice,  after  some  hearty  shaking 
of  hands  and  other  professions  of  friendship,  remon- 
strated with  Frederick  on  his  using  a  friend  with  so 
much  reserve  as  to  leave  him  to  find  out  his  good  luck 
from  others,  when  a  confidential  communication  would 
have  given  so  much  more  pleasure;  artfully  putting 
his  distance  to  the  score  of  timidity,  as  if  he  were  to 
look  for  a  reprimand  from  an  old  friend  of  the  family 
for  such  his  deep  play ;  which  indeed  he  could  hardly 
approve  in  one  so  young,  for  though  the  thing  were 
innocent  enough  when  used  with  discretion,  young 
men,  however,  fired  at  a  little  good  luck,  were  apt  to 
run  past  bounds.  Frederick  took  occasion  to  thank 
Barret  for  his  good  advice,  and  other  tokens  of  friend- 
ship, and  took  his  admonition  in  the  letter,  and  not  as 
Barret  intended  it,  as  a  spur  rather  than  a  check  to 
play,  judging  from  his  knowledge  of  young  men,  that 
to  advise  them  not  to  do  a  thing  was,  for  the  most  part, 
the  very  way  to  put  them  on  doing  it.  He  told  him, 
[233] 


GMje  tyi&toxy  of  &9r.  31oljn  SDecastro 

truly  sensible  as  he  was  of  the  value  of  all  he  had  said, 
that  there  was  little  occasion  for  it  notwithstanding, 
for  he  might  depend  on  it  none  should  ever  draw  him 
to  risk  a  bird  in  hand  for  two  in  a  bush — he  should 
play  no  more. 

Barret,  who  began  to  find  that  he  had  missed  his 
way,  and  willing  to  draw  him  on,  taking  it  into  his 
head  that  he  might  as  well  have  this  delicious  estate  as 
another,  said,  the  advice  which  he  had  given  him  did 
not  apply  to  the  present  case,  neither  could  he  be 
thought  to  call  him  off  where  his  honour  was  con- 
cerned in  any  matter.  Frederick  asked  him  what  he 
meant  by  that  ?  He  said,  that  he  had  met  the  young 
nobleman  who  had  lost  the  estate,  several  times,  who 
had  expected  to  find  the  winner  in  his  place,  and  ready 
to  give  him  his  revenge ;  had  been  much  disappointed, 
however,  in  not  finding  him  in  it,  and  had  let  some 
thing  fall  as  if  such  dealings  were  not  honourable: 
Barret  went  on  to  say,  that  however  tender  he  might 
be  of  Frederick's  morals,  it  were  ill  done  if  he  over- 
looked the  care  of  his  honour,  and  he  had  gone  so  far 
as  to  pledge  himself  for  his  appearance  and  readiness 
to  do  every  thing  which  could  be  expected  in  a  man  of 
honour. 

Frederick  again  expressed  his  thanks  and  said,  that 
for  once  he  should  rest  his  reputation  on  the  plea  of 
raw  inexperience,  youth,  and  ignorance  of  the  world, 
and  take  care  in  future  to  run  it  into  no  further  risk, 
and,  in  order  to  it,  the  best  way  would  be  to  go  no 
more  to  the  gaming-house,  and  upon  this  he  was  quite 
determined. 

Barret,  nettled  at  being  still  flung  off,  said,  he  had 
engaged  himself  for  his  friend's  appearance,  that  he 
[234] 


tEbf  history  of  Si5r.  3|ol)n  SDfcastro 

had  made  his  excuses  from  time  to  time,  and  that  his 
own  honour  as  well  as  Frederick's — 

Interrupting  him,  Frederick  said,  that  he  must  beg 
leave  to  differ  from  his  worthy  friend,  and  others,  in 
his  notions  of  honour,  and,  though  he  owned  that  he 
felt  a  wish  to  be  better  acquainted  with  those  gentle- 
men to  whom  he  had  been  introduced  when  last  he- 
was  in  town,  yet,  like  as  he  was  to  differ  with  them  in 
opinions,  he  was  come  to  a  resolution  to  see  their  faces 
no  more,  it  should  not  be  his  fault,  however,  if  he  did. 
Upon  this  he  arose,  called  for  his  bill,  and,  excusing 
himself  upon  a  little  engagement,  wished  Colonel  Bar- 
ret a  good  evening,  and  went  away. 

On  his  return  at  night  he  found  a  note  of  invitation 
from  Barret  to  dine  at  his  house  the  next  day.  Fred- 
erick had  his  doubts,  not  knowing  whom  he  might 
meet,  and  suspecting  some  plot  on  foot  to  get  him  to 
play,  refused  to  accept  the  invitation.  Barret  called  on 
him  in  the  morning,  and  assuring  him  no  man  would 
be  at  his  dinner  whom  he  could  have  any  the  least  ob- 
jection to  meet,  Frederick  promised  to  come. 

On  his  arrival  he  found  none  whom  he  knew,  but 
stood  well  on  his  guard,  for  he  was  full  of  suspicions. 
After  dinner  some  left  the  room,  and  Barret  amongst 
the  rest,  when  those  who  remained  in  it  tried  to  make 
him  drink.  Frederick  drank  a  few  glasses  with  them, 
and  made  a  shew  as  if  he  were  fuddled :  upon  which 
they  held  their  hands,  and  one  went  out,  and,  presently 
they  who  were  absent  returned  with  Barret,  who  made 
excuse  of  some  business  for  himself  and  the  rest,  and 
said,  "  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  please,  we  will  walk  into 
the  other  room ;  "  where  tea  and  coffee,  card,  and  other 
tables  for  gaming  were  set  out. 
[235] 


%\Ht  H?istorv  of  $&r.  3fjo^n  SDrcastro 

A  young  nobleman,  who  must  be  nameless,  now 
came  in;  he  had  been  expected  at  dinner,  but  did  not 
come  on  some  account ;  he  made  his  apologies  in  a  very 
elegant  manner,  and,  after  taking  a  slight  repast  in 
another  room,  joined  the  party  and  sat  down  to  play. 
Frederick,  who  feigned  himself  half  drunk,  was  pres- 
ently asked  by  one  to  play ;  and  Barret,  who  stood  by, 
said,  he  need  not  fear  anything  at  his  house,  where 
crown  whist  was  the  utmost  risk  any  ever  ran  in  it ; 
gentlemen  betted,  however,  what  they  pleased.  Fred- 
erick said : 

"  Drunk  as  I  am  I  have  not  forgot  the  very  good  ad- 
vice you  gave  me  yesterday,  colonel ; — I  say — I  say — 
what  was  I  saying  ? " — upon  which  he  flounced  into  a 
chair  in  a  way  between  a  sitting  down  and  a  tumble,  and 
Barret  observed,  loud  enough  for  him  to  hear,  that 
"  they  had  overdone  him." 

"  I  can't  distinguish  a  club  from  a  spade,"  said  Fred- 
erick, continuing  to  mutter  half  as  it  were  to  himself, 
"no,  nor  a  di'mond  from  a  heart,  nor  a  five  from  a 
seven,  not  I,  as  I  was  saying — " 

Upon  which  they  left  him  talking  to  himself,  and  all 
sat  down  to  play. 

Frederick,  no  longer  pressed  to  take  cards,  arose, 
and  placing  himself  behind  the  young  nobleman's 
chair,  detected  one  at  his  table  in  a  little  sleight  of 
hand  who  was  Barret's  partner  in  a  game  at  whist. 
He  waited  a  little,  and  saw  it  repeated  at  a  very  impor- 
tant point  of  the  game,  and  the  young  nobleman,  who, 
though  he  was  playing  for  crowns,  had  betted  hun- 
dreds, upon  the  game  being  ended,  gave  Colonel  Bar- 
ret a  check  on  his  banker  for  a  thousand  pounds. 

Frederick  then  took  Barret  aside,  who  was  aston- 
[236] 


(Etjc  ijistovv  of  $&t.  3Jotm  Dccastro 

ished  to  find  him  got  sober  on  a  sudden,  and  told  him 
if  the  check  were  not  instantly  returned  to  the  young 
nobleman,  he  would  certainly  tell  him  what  sort  of 
folks  he  had  played  at  cards  with.  Barret  put  on  a 
strange  face,  and  stood  it  out  at  first  for  the  honour  of 
his  partner,  but  soon  found  it  would  not  do,  for,  finding 
Barret  still  to  hold  back,  Frederick  took  him  aside  and 
told  him  what  he  had  seen,  and  would  swear  to,  if  need 
were.  Barret,  fearing  a  disturbance,  for  he  knew  what 
had  been  done  as  well  as  Frederick,  instantly  returned 
the  check  to  the  young  nobleman,  and  said  to  Freder- 
ick that  he  could  not  be  expected  to  be  answerable  for 
people's  principles,  but  that  the  gentleman,  whose  part- 
ner he  had  the  honour  to  be,  was  a  man  of  fashion  and 
fortune,  and  received  on  the  best  foot  by  all  the  west 
end  of  the  town. 


C237] 


CHAPTER    XX 

Frederick  leaves  England  in  a  great  fright — Three  sweet 
young  Ladies  intrbduced  —  Cupid  bends  his  Bow,  and 
Love  affairs  begin.  —  The  pen  sometimes  in  the  hands  of 
Old  Comical,  and  sometimes  in  the  hands  of  the  Solid 
Gentleman. 

People  stare  sometimes,  and  gape,  in  order  to  see 
the  better — and,  certainly,  the  more  holes  a  man  opens, 
the  more  light  he  must  needs  let  into  his  body :  and 
that  is  the  reason  why,  when  folks  stare,  they  gape 
with  their  mouths  wide  open  at  the  same  time :  Now 
the  young  nobleman,  that  came,  like  a  cushion,  under 
the  bottom  of  the  last  chapter,  opened  his  eyes  and  his 
mouth  at  the  sight  of  his  check  upon  his  banker  for 
one  thousand  pounds  coming  back  again  from  the  colo- 
nel. It  sometimes  happens  upon  a  sudden  surprise, 
that  the  first  thing  a  man  does  is  to  fall  into  a  great 
passion. 

"What  the  devil  d'ye  mean,  sir,"  said  the  young 
nobleman  to  the  colonel,  "what  the  devil  d'ye  mean 
by  returning  me  my  check  ?  D'ye  think  I  mean  to 
give  you  a  false  piece  of  paper  ?  " 

The  colonel  hesitated  and  said,  something  had  hap- 
pened in  the  course  of  the  last  rubber  which  had  dis- 
annulled the  whole  thing,  and  though  his  lordship  had 
not  observed  it,  he  conceived  himself,  nevertheless,  in 
honour  bound  to  return  him  his  money ;  upon  which 
his  lordship  made  his  bow  and  left  the  room  with  a 
very  exalted  opinion  of  the  colonel's  honour. 
[238] 


W$t  Jl?tstor£  of  $)r.  3f|ofjn  SDecastro 

Frederick,  notwithstanding  the  gay  scenes  in  which 
he  had  been  engaged  for  four  or  five  months  in  the 
gayest  city  in  the  world,  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
innocent,  felt  his  brother's  murder  lie  like  a  coal  of  fire 
on  his  heart ;  for  the  false  intelligence  which  his  mistress 
had  communicated,  had,  as  yet,  met  with  no  contradic- 
tion. It  was  natural  enough  in  him  to  suppose  that 
the  hounds  were  out  and  beating  for  him,  and  though 
they  had  not  as  yet  got  scent  of  him,  they  might  at  a 
time  when  he  was  the  least  prepared  to  make  his  escape, 
and  he  might  come,  without  any  other  accident,  except 
breaking  his  neck,  to  the  gallows ;  and,  though  no  in- 
quiries had  been  made  in  London  after  him,  he  took  it 
into  his  head  that  he  was  in  great  danger,  by  the  help 
of  his  conscience  and  some  trivial  circumstances  which 
he  construed  in  the  wrong  way.  Feeling  himself  there- 
fore not  quite  so  much  at  his  ease  in  England  as  he 
thought  he  might  be  in  some  other  place,  he  told  his 
friend  the  colonel  that  he  had  intelligence  of  the  man 
whom  he  fought  being  dead  of  his  wounds,  and  had 
come  to  a  determination  to  leave  England  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  he  was  sure,  from  some  very  aggravating 
circumstances  in  his  case,  store  of  which  he  invented 
and  put  off  upon  the  colonel  for  truths,  that  if  he  were 
taken  he  should  most  assuredly  be  hanged  for  murder. 
Now  it  so  fell  out  that  the  colonel  too,  for  some  reasons, 
was  not  best  pleased  with  his  situation  in  England  just 
at  that  time,  so  Frederick  and  the  colonel,  with  another 
friend,  whose  name  was  Dogger,  took  ship  and  went  to 
France,  and  Frederick's  mistress  went  with  them  to 
Paris  to  see  the  fashions. 

When  folks  have  any  great  news  to  tell,  and  their 
friends  happen  to  be  at  a  great  distance,  they  will  be 

L239] 


tZ^ijr  9?t0tor£  of  99r.  31o^n  SDecastro 

apt  sometimes  to  write  letters.  Now  it  came  to  pass 
that  Dr.  Remnant  and  the  philosopher  were  both  of 
one  mind  in  this  matter,  and  took  it  into  their  heads 
that  their  thoughts  might  be  for  once  worth  a  penny, 
so  down  sat  the  philosopher  at  Merton,  and  down  sat 
Dr.  Remnant  at  Christchurch  college  with  pen  in  hand 
to  tell  the  good  people  in  the  north  what  a  thing  had 
been  done  in  the  University. — Why  not  sat  down  ?  The 
adverb  is  here  put  before  the  verb,  reader,  for  the 
greater  nobility  of  period. — The  same  post  brought 
both  their  letters  to  the  castle,  and  the  very  moment 
the  contents  were  read,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  felt  as 
if  their  hearts  were   dipped  in  cold  water. 

Now  it  so  fell  out  that  Old  Comical  had  just  drawn 
ten  quarters  of  oats  from  Old  Crab's  farm  to  the  castle 
stables  for  Mr.  Decastro's  horses,  and  was  going  home 
with  the  empty  waggon,  when  Mr.  Decastro  called  to 
him  out  of  the  castle  window  with  a  loud  voice,  "  John 
Mathers !  John  Mathers !  John  Mathers !  "  whereupon 
Old  Comical  answered  and  said,  "  Here  am  I." 

"  Shoot  off  one  of  your  horses,  John,"  quoth  the  im- 
patient gentleman,  "  and  gallop  away  to  the  farm,  and 
tell  my  brother  he  must  come  to  us  this  moment  !  " 

Whereupon  Old  Comical  laid  hold  upon  his  waist- 
band with  both  his  hands,  and,  pulling  up  his  breeches, 
jumped  upon  Nimrod,  the  fore  horse  of  his  team,  and 
off  he  went  upon  a  full  gallop  to  Old  Crab's  farm. 

Now  the  reason  why  Old  Comical  took  Nimrod,*  was 
because  the  horse  had  taken  a  dose  of  physic  that 

*  Scholium. — Took  Nimrod.] — We  suspect  an  hiatus  in  this 
place  :  it  is  great  neglect  in  our  historians  else,  not  to  tell  us 
in  whose  care  Old  Comical  left  his  waggon  and  the  rest  of  his 
team. 

[240] 


W$t  $?i0tor£  of  $0t.  iflofjn  EDecastro 

morning,  and  wisely,  for,  being  in  haste,  he  wanted 
something  to  move  his  horse. 

The  Solid  Gentleman  took  the  pen  out  of  Old  Com- 
icals  hand  at  this  time,  and  proceeded  as  followeth  : — 

Mr.  Bartholomew  Decastro  was  at  his  dinner  when 
honest  John  Mathers  came  in  with  the  message.  He 
arose,  however,  immediately,  and  made  the  best  of  his 
way  to  the  castle,  and  the  dreadful  news  from  Oxford 
was  laid  before  him.  Old  Crab  was  reading  the  letters, 
when  the  butler  brought  a  large  parcel  into  the  room 
directed  to  Mr.  Decastro. 

If  people  are  very  much  engaged  in  one  thing,  an- 
other may  go  a-begging :  the  parcel  lay  some  time  with- 
out any  notice  being  had  of  it,  when  Mrs.  Decastro, 
glancing  her  eye  upon  the  direction,  saw  it  to  be  the 
handwriting  of  Acerbus,  commonly  called  the  philoso- 
pher. She  cut  the  strings  of  the  parcel,  and,  taking 
off  the  cover,  found  it  to  contain  a  great  book  with  two 
round  holes  bored,  or  punched,  in  one  of  the  lids  of  it. 
Old  Crab  opened  the  book,  which  proved  to  be  a  large 
folio  edition  of  Plato's  works,  and  following  the  two 
holes  which  were  made  in  it,  leaf  by  leaf,  came  at  last 
to  the  two  bullets  which  had  been  shot  and  lodged  in 
the  middle  of  the  book.  This  matter  had,  of  course, 
been  fully  explained  in  the  letters ;  but  it  added  very 
much  to  the  shock  which  this  dreadful  intelligence  had 
given  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro.  Poor  Mrs.  Decastro 
wept  sadly,  and  Mr.  Decastro  and  his  brother  held  a 
long  talk  upon  this  terrible  matter.  What  courses 
they  resolved  upon  in  regard  to  Frederick  will  be  seen 
hereafter. 

{Old  Comical  at  zvork  again.') When  a  man  sits 

down  to  dinner  and  casts  "his  eyes  all  over  the  table 
16  [24J] 


tEtje  «?t0tor£  of  apr.  31otm  HDecaatro 

without  finding  one  dish  to  his  liking,  what  tongue, 
what  pen,  what  pencil  can  describe  the  feelings  of  his 
soul !  poor  soul !  poor  soul !  poor  soul ! — What !  no  fish 
to-day  ?  no,  sir,  no  fish  to  be  got  in  the  market : — the 
devil  take  the  market ! — The  devil  take  the  book,  cry 
the  ladies,  for  we  can  find  no  love  in  it :  what  can  we 
do  with  the  ladies  ?  they  are  never  content  unless  they 
get  to  kissing,  liquorish  toads ! — more  shame  for  them  ! 
Shame ! — what  shame  ?  kissing  was  the  very  end  for 
which  they  were  made,  and,  pray,  what  thing  was  ever 
made  to  any  shameful  end  ?  Folks  may  be  more  nice 
than  wise:  if  people  would  take  shame  in  the  right 
place  it  would  be  much  better  for  them,  be  a  little  bet- 
ter economists  of  their  blushes,  and  not  blush  so  much 
in  wrong  places  as  not  to  have  so  much  as  one  blush 
left  for  the  right ! 

What !  no  shame  in  kissing  ?  no — no  shame  at  all, 
if  you  kiss  your  husband,  madam,  or  your  lover  whom 
you  mean  to  make  one :  but  if  you  kiss  another  woman's 
husband,  which  you  do  every  day  without  blushing  at 
all  about  the  matter,  that  is  a  very  great  shame,  and  to 
our  grief  we  have  not  got  such  a  kiss  as  that  in  all  our 
history.  A  word  in  your  ear,  madam — you  cannot  kiss 
too  much  in  the  right  place,  nor  too  little  in  the  wrong. 

Now  as  for  blushing,  a  lady  may  blush  without  being 
ashamed ;  nay,  she  may  even  be  ashamed  to  blush,  and 
blush  for  fear  she  should  be  seen  to  blush,  for  some 
blushes  are  very  impudent  things.  Now  as  kissing  and 
blushing  are  coming,  it  falls  in  this  place  to  say,  that 
folks  may  kiss  and  no  harm  done,  yea,  and  blush  too, 
and  yet  be  very  modest:  and  this,  because  an  arch- 
bishop may  be  reading  our  history  to  the  ladies,  and 
George,  all  on  a  sudden,  catch  Julia  by  her  waist  and 
[242] 


Xgfyi  piston?  of  ^r,  31oljn  SDecaatro 

kiss  her — and  what  of  that,  if  Old  Crab  hath  published 
the  banns  of  marriage  between  them  ?  This  is  a  very 
fiery  subject,  reader;  it  is  enough  to  burn  a  man's  pen 
in  his  hand:  Kempius — the  man  was  surely  made  of 
ice — Kempius  put  every  sort  of  kiss  that  ever  was,  or 
could  be,  given  in  the  world,  into  a  book,  and  wrote  at 
least  eight  hundred  pages  upon  this  branch  of  electric- 
ity : — a  very  grave  man — his  picture  is  put  in  the  front 
of  his  book,  and  his  band,  and  his  beard  together,  hang 
clown  to  his  smallclothes.  To  return  to  blushing — a 
bad  man  will  blush  as  much  at  being  detected  by  his 
friends  in  doing  a  good  thing,  as  a  good  man  if  he  be 
detected  in  doing  a  bad  one.  Adzooks !  when  things 
are  sorted,  how  many  will  be  found  virtuous  and  inno- 
cent for  which  we  have  been  heartily  ashamed,  how 
many  vicious  and  infamous  for  which  we  have  applauded 
ourselves  and  others ! 

Old  Crab,  as  we  believe  we  have  already  stated  in 
some  one  of  our  foregoing  pages,  had  ten  children,  of 
which  death  took  the  nine  parts  and  left  the  tenth  for 
the  poor  clergyman;  it  was  Julia,  a  beautiful  young 
woman,  who  was  now  grown  to  be  eighteen  years  of 
age.  She  was  a  fair  girl  with  blue  eyes,  rosy  face, 
and  flaxen  hair.  Bred  in  rustic  innocence,  Julia  milked 
Old  Crab's  cows,  and  had  the  care  of  his  dairy,  at 
Oaken  Grove  farm. 

Now,  reader,  such  a  thing  hath  been  known  under 
the  sun,  that  where  there  has  been  only  one  child  both 
father  and  mother  must  needs  join  their  forces  to  be 
the  ruin  of  it,  and,  let  its  disposition  be  what  it  may, 
will  not  hold  their  hands  until  they  have  utterly  spoiled 
it — but  such  was  not  the  case  with  Julia,  who  was  made 
of  the  very  best  wax,  and  shone  as  bright  as  a  candle 

[243] 


®lje  piston?  of  apt.  3(|ot)tt  Decastro 

in  a  silver  save-all :  the  most  inveterate  parents  could 
scarce  have  spoiled  her  if  they  would,  unless,  when  she 
wanted  the  snuffers,  thy  had  put  an  extinguisher  over 
her  head  and  ears.  This  being  the  case,  what  might 
be  expected  from  such  a  father  as  Old  Crab,  and  so 
excellent  a  mother  as  Mrs.  B.  Decastro?  Why  a  thing 
pushed  as  near  to  perfection  as  a  thing  kneaded  out  of 
the  four  frail  elements  could  be. 

But  we  must  be  economists,  for,  having  two  other 
very  nice  girls  to  bring  forward,  if  we  lay  out  all  upon 
Julia,  we  shall  have  not  a  penny  left  to  spend  upon  the 
magnificent  Genevieve,  or  the  charming  Lady  Char- 
lotte Orby:  but  having  just  announced  their  names  by 
way  of  introduction  to  the  reader,  we  shall  go  on  with 
Julia  a  little  way,  and  come  to  them  afterwards.  Nota 
bene,  fair  reader,  we  have  not  been  to  heaven  and 
brought  down  a  nest  of  angels  with  us  to  put  all  the 
female  excellence  and  beauty  in  the  world  out  of  coun- 
tenance— no  such  thing — Julia,  for  instance,  is  no  more 
than  what  you  may  be  if  you  please,  if  you  are  a  beauty ; 
indeed  it  is  not  impossible  for  you  to  excel  her  in  her 
better  part,  if  you  are  not,  for  beauty  stands  very  much 
in  a  woman's  way,  and  is  no  little  impediment  to  her 
improvement. 

No,  you  will  find  no  lady  in  this  our  history  without 
a  fault:  women  in  romances  are  usually  angels  with 
their  wings  cut  off — no — no  such  things  here.  Julia, 
you  will  find,  is  a  very  good  girl,  and  very  handsome, 
but  we  must  be  content  with  that  for  the  present. 
George  Grove  was,  it  seems,  very  much  in  love  with 
her ;  but  as  she  was  bred  low,  and,  what  was  worse, 
was  low  in  pocket  too,  his  rich  friends  could  not  be 
brought  to  be  of  his  mind. 

[244] 


(E^e  ftttitor?  of  $)r.  3fjotm  SDtcastto 

George  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Acerbus  the  phi- 
losopher, was  a  brother  collegian,  and  they  always  came 
home  together  at  the  vacations ;  and,  although  he  was 
very  fond  of  his  friend's  company,  he  had  another  reason 
for  coming  to  Oaken  Grove ;  for  as  the  way  to  it  lay 
near  Old  Crab's  farm-house,  and  indeed  ran  through 
some  of  his  meadows,  he  very  often  found  Julia,  by 
accident  perhaps,  in  it  or  near  it,  frequently  with  her 
milk-pail  on  her  arm.  For  whether  the  grass  was 
sweeter  which  grew  near  the  road,  or  whether  the  trees 
which  grew  by  the  side  of  it  afforded  a  more  pleasant 
shade,  or  for  what  other  reason,  the  cows  were  always 
seen  to  graze  and  shelter  there  rather  than  anywhere 
else,  and  when  Julia  went  a-milking  she  must  go  where 
the  cows  were  to  be  found,  she  could  not  help  that. 

So  it  happened  that  she  was  within  a  little  distance 
of  the  said  road  almost  every  morning  and  every  even- 
ing, and  that  too,  which  was  a  little  strange,  more 
especially  during  the  vacations ;  but  this  may  be  ac- 
counted for,  the  cows  must  know  where  the  best  grass 
was  to  be  had  during  the  vacations.  And  so  by  this 
odd  accident  it  was  impossible  for  George  to  take  an 
evening  walk  on  purpose  to  see  his  friend  without 
stumbling  over  Julia,  who  lay  so  much  in  his  way,  and 
all  the  fault  of  the  cows,  that  got  directly  into  George's 
path  whether  Julia  would  or  not,  and  she  must  milk 
them  where  she  could  find  them,  for  her  mother  would 
have  been  angry  with  her,  and  her  father  too,  if  she 
had  come  home  with  an  empty  pail,  and  said  she  was 
afraid  to  milk  the  cows  because  they  had  got  close  to 
the  road  side.  As  for  George  he  was  forced  to  come 
that  way  for  there  was  no  other,  and  he  could  not  help 
seeing  the  pretty  Julia,  because  he  had  two  very  fine 
[245] 


tEtje  history  of  £®t.  3|oljn  SDecaatro 

eyes,  and  could  see  Julia  a  long  way  off ;  but  there  was 
no  need  to  strain  his  eyes,  for  he  always  knew  well 
enough  where  to  find  her,  and  when  she  heard  his  foot 
she  would  look  round,  and  who  could  help  it  when  a 
footstep  is  heard  behind  one  ? 

Now  it  so  fell  out,  one  fine  summer  evening,  as 
George  was  walking  along  in  great  haste  to  see  his 
friend,  and  indeed  he  had  been  invited  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Decastro  to  come  and  drink  tea  at  the  castle,  for  they 
were  very  fond  of  George,  and  so  he  was  forced  to  go, 
it  so  fell  out,  as  we  were  a-saying,  that  on  the  said  fine 
summer  eve,  as  he  was  taking  the  said  walk,  being  in- 
vited as  aforesaid,  that  just  as  he  came  to  a  broad- 
headed  oak  he  espied  Julia  sitting  under  it  upon  her 
milking-stool,  for  she  had  milked  the  cows  some  time, 
to  rest  herself  perhaps,  close  to  the  roadside.  People 
want  a  little  rest  after  fatigue,  and  more  especially  the 
fatigue  of  milking,  so  there  was  nothing  unnatural  in 
Julia's  wanting  a  little  rest  after  the  same;  so  taking 
her  milking-stool,  and  getting  under  a  tree  close  to  the 
roadside,  she  sat  down  upon  it  out  of  the  sun,  for  the 
sun  was  hot,  and  a  shady  tree  close  to  the  roadside  was 
very  agreeable — now  George,  out  of  fun  perhaps,  stole 
up  to  the  tree  upon  the  turf,  which  kept  his  approach 
a  secret,  for  it  made  no  noise,  and  as  Julia's  back  was 
towards  him  she  knew  nothing  at  all  about  the  matter 
— not  she — how  should  she,  unless  she  could  have  seen 
behind  her  ?  and  what  a  pity  it  is  Nature  had  not  made 
some  such  provision  for  the  ladies,  falling  in  the  way 
as  they  do  of  such  dangerous  animals  !  So  far  indeed 
their  employments  are  always  so  innocent  that  drop 
upon  a  lady  whenever  one  will  she  is  never  doing  any- 
thing to  be  ashamed  of;  that  is  not  insinuated,  but  a 

[246] 


Wtyt  $?i0torp  of  $5r.  3|otjn  EDecastro 

man  may  come  softly  behind  her  and  catch  her  by  the 
waist,  which  is  a  very  shocking  thing,  and  may  bring 
great  mischief,  more  especially  if  she  happen  to  be  fond 
of  him,  for  that  makes  matters  ten  times  worse. 

This  was  just  the  case  with  Julia,  see  what  a  sad 
disaster  came  of  it : — she  had  a  taste  for  drawing  like- 
nesses, and  had  got  her  pencil  and  a  bit  of  skin  in  her 
hands,  and  took  it  into  her  head  to  try  her  skill  upon 
George  Grove,  which  was  very  idle,  when  she  should 
have  carried  her  milk  home  and  set  it  in  pans  for  cream- 
ing. Now  it  came  to  pass  that  George,  who  stood  under 
the  body  of  the  tree  close  behind  her,  poked  out  his 
nose  over  her  shoulder  as  she  sat  taking  the  aforesaid 
liberties  with  his  person,  to  see  what  she  was  piddling 
about,  and  casting  his  eyes  upon  Julia's  skin  saw  his 
own  image  on  it,  and  knew  it  in  a  moment :  and  if  he 
had  not  known  his  own  body  when  he  saw  it,  Julia  had 
got  such  a  trick  of  talking  to  herself — will  the  ladies' 
tongues  never  lie  quiet  in  their  mouths  ? — Julia  had  got 
such  a  trick  of  talking  to  herself  that  she  would  soon 
have  told  him  what  charming  youth  her  fingers  were 
making  so  free  with. 

"  O  fie !  "  said  she,  rubbing  out  a  limb,  "  Mr.  George 
Grove  has  a  prettier  leg  than  that  a  great  deal !  Good 
gracious,  what  a  mouth  I  have  made  him ;  I  vow  and 
declare  his  lips  are  the  sweetest  part  of  his  face ! 
heigh-ho  for  the  heart  ache !  and  heigh-ho  for  a  hus- 
band to  cure  it ! — these  bits  of  things  are  no  more  like 
Mr.  George  Grove's  delicious  eyes,  than  two  holes  in 
an  old  wall  are  like  them !  O  dear !  I  am  afraid  I  am 
a  very  wicked  thing,  for  I  never  looked  at  Mr.  George 
Grove's  eyes  in  'my  life  but  I  always  wanted  to  kiss 
them!" 

[^47] 


Qfyt  tyisttoty  of  spr.  3Mn  SDecatftro 

George  could  stand  his  ground  no  longer,  and  some 
may  think  it  a  little  marvellous  that  he  could  so  long, 
but  leaped  from  behind  the  tree,  for  he  had  heard  all 
she  said,  and  caught  Julia  in  his  arms,  who  was  darting 
away,  and  she  sunk  upon  his  bosom  just  for  all  the 
world  as  if  she  had  fainted  away  upon  it ! — Now  all  this 
comes  of  unguarded  moments,  and  folks  not  caring  to 
examine  their  ground  before  they  lay  themselves  open 
in  such  a  shocking  manner.  Faint  away!  she  be 
hanged!  she  took  care  to  keep  all  her  senses  about 
her,  and  she  acted  with  great  prudence  while  she  was 
in  the  arms  of  the  man  she  loved. 

Enough  and  to  spare  had  already  passed  between 
George  and  Julia  to  tell  each  other  what  was  the  matter 
with  both,  but  George  had  not  declared  his  passion  for 
the  beautiful  milk-maid  before  this  evening,  which  he 
now  did  while  he  had  such  a  good  opportunity  to  press 
her  upon  the  subject :  what  a  patient  creature  a  woman 
is,  when  the  man  she  likes  gets  hold  of  her !  George 
asked  her  leave  ten  times  over  to  make  his  love  known 
to  her  father  and  mother.  Perhaps  she  liked  to  hear 
him  repeat  the  solicitation  and  some  kind  things  that 
came  along  with  it,  for  she  was  silent  just  as  if  she 
could  not  talk  to  George  as  well  as  to  herself. 

"Give  me  a  smile,  Julia,"  said  he,  looking  into  her 
face,  "  if  you  consent." 

She  could  hold  no  longer,  but  dropt  her  soft  blue 
eyes  upon  a  cowslip  that  grew  at  her  feet  and  smiled. 
Old  Crab,  who  had  come  to  look  for  Julia,  having  out- 
staid  her  usual  time,  walked  behind  the  tree  without 
being  seen,  as  was  like  enough,  for  t)ie  lovers  were  so 
much  engaged  that  he  had  scarce  been  observed  if  he 
had  galloped  to  the  oak  on  horseback,  heard  and  saw 
[248] 


<E^e  tntftorg  of  £0t.  31oiw  H>ecastro 

all  that  passed,  and  how  could  he  choose  as  he  stood 
close  behind  them  ? 

Julia  presently  arose  and  took  her  pail,  and  said,  she 
must  begone,  or  her  father  might  come  to  look  for  her, 
and  she  thought  she  should  die  if  he  came  and  found 
them  together ;  so  George  carried  her  pail  for  her  to 
the  first  stile,  for  she  was  afraid  to  let  him  come  too 
near  the  house  for  fear  he  should  be  seen  with  her, 
and  took  his  leave. 

Old  Crab  kept  his  eyes  upon  them  till  they  parted, 
and  then  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Hindermark,  took 
George's  father  aside,  and  imparted  his  discovery  to 
him: 

"  Master  Grove,"  quoth  he,  "your  son  is  in  love  with 
my  wench  —  I  came  just  now  into  the  milk-house 
grounds  to  see  what  kept  the  jade  so  long  a-milking, 
and  found  them  sitting  together  under  the  great  oak, 
as  it  is  called,  and  hiding  myself  behind  the  body  of  the 
tree  I  heard  your  son  make  his  proposals  to  her.  Now 
look  you,  Master  Grove,  to  be  plain  with  you,  I  have 
no  objection  to  your  son  George,  he  is  a  good  lad  and 
always  was,  but  I  have  to  his  great  expectations : — he 
is  your  only  son  and  will  come  in  for  great  possessions ; 
my  girl  is  a  poor  wench,  and,  if  any  marry  her,  a  man 
must  be  content  to  find  no  more  than  a  thimble,  a 
housewife,  and  a  few  halfpence  in  her  pocket ;  so,  look 
you,  master  Grove,  if  you  like  the  thing  should  go  on, 
well  and  good,  if  not,  you  look  to  your  son,  and  I'll 
look  to  my  daughter." 

Upon  which  Old  Crab  walked  home,  told  his  wife  the 

story,  and  said  that  he  had  reason  to  think  George's 

father  was  not  best  pleased  at  the  news.     Upon  which 

he  took  his  wench,  as  he  called  her,  into  his  study 

[249] 


tEtje  $?iator£  of  $pr.  51o^n  Dccastro 

and  gave  her  as  much  good  advice  as  could  come  in  an 
hour's  talking. 

Poor  Julia  was  sadly  frightened  when  she  found  that 
her  father  knew  everything,  and  as  much  astonished 
at  his  knowledge,  for  how  he  could  come  by  it  she  could 
not  think  for  her  life :  she  saw  that  he  had  come  by  it, 
however,  and  the  worst  of  it  too,  so  she  made  no  scruple 
to  answer  all  his  questions  but  one,  and  that  was,  if 
she  were  in  love  with  George?  for  when  her  father 
asked  her  that,  she  was  silent,  and  fell  a-crying. 

Poor  Julia !  she  had  seen  so  much  of  George,  and  so 
many  little  tendernesses  and  fond  things  had  passed 
between  them  before  he  declared  his  love,  that  he  had 
long  ago  broken  into  her  bosom,  a  thief!  and  stolen 
her  heart  out  of  it.  Old  Crab  saw  well  enough  how 
matters  stood  with  her,  and  fell  to  admonish  her  to  get 
the  better  of  her  attachment  to  one  so  much  her 
superior  in  fortune;  for,  although  George's  father 
said  little,  he,  from  that  little,  could  easily  collect  his 
mind  upon  the  thing ;  and  though  she  were  come  of  as 
good  a  family  as  George,  no  matter  for  that,  for  money 
put  in  all  the  difference.  He  was  much  pleased  with 
the  artless  innocence  with  which  Julia  answered  all  the 
questions  put  to  her,  and  her  promises  to  do  everything 
which  her  papa  and  mamma  should  bid  her  do,  and, 
calling  her  a  good  wench,  said,  she  might  go  to  her 
work :  and  so  she  did,  and  cried  till  it  was  time  to  go 
a-milking. 

As  soon  as  Old  Crab  left  Hindermark  Mr.  Grove 
took  his  son  into  the  garden,  questioned  him  where  he 
had  been  and  what  he  had  been  doing  that  evening  ? 
He  said  he  had  drank  tea  at  Oaken  Grove  with  his 
friend  Acerbus. 

h5°l 


t£\)t  totorE  of  $9r.  31otm  ©ecastro 

"  Who  were  at  the  castle  ? "  said  Mr.  Grove. 

George  said  that  there  were  no  visitors  there  but 
himself. 

"  Tell  me  the  names  of  everybody  you  have  seen  this 
evening,"  said  Mr.  Grove. 

George  wondered  a  little  at  a  question  which  he  had 
never  been  asked  upon  a  like  occasion,  for  he  frequently 
dined  and  drank  tea  at  the  castle  without  being  asked 
any  questions  at  all : — he  said,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro, 
Miss  De  Roma,  Acerbus,  and  his  aunt,  were  the  only 
persons  whom  he  had  met  at  the  castle. 

Did  he  meet  anybody  on  his  walk  ? 

"Dear  sir,"  said  George,  "I  cannot  think  why  you 
are  so  particular — yes,  I  met  several  persons  on  my 
walk  to  the  castle." 

"  Who  were  they  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  George,  "  I  met  Mr.  Decastro's  park- 
keeper,  one  of  the  game-keepers,  the  butler  with  a 
basket  of  mushrooms,  and  Miss  De  Roma's  maid." 

"  Anybody  else  ?  " 

George  hesitated,  and  said,  "  Yes,  I  believe  I  did — 
but  why  do  you  ask,  sir  ?  " 

"  No  matter,"  whispered  Mr.  Grove — "  there  is  one 
person  whom  I  know  you  met,  whose  name  you  have 
not  said." 

George  changed  colour  a  little,  and  replied,  "  O  dear, 
yes,  I  met  Miss  Julia — I  well  remember  now,  with  her 
milk-pail  on  her  arm — have  you  seen  her  this  evening, 
or  how  came  you  to  know  that  I  met  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Grove,  "  I  have  not  seen  her  this 
evening,  but  I  know  very  well  that  you  have  seen  her, 
George,  and  it  is  a  wonder  that  you  did  not  recollect  it 
before." 

[251] 


W$t  tfrtetorp  of  S^r.  31otm  H>era0tro 

"  Dear  sir,"  said  George,  "  one  cannot  call  to  mind  in 
a  moment  what  indifferent  persons  one  meets  on  a 
walk,  especially  when  one  does  not  expect  to  be  asked 
to  give  such  a  minute  account." 

"Indifferent  persons!"  said  Mr.  Grove;  "one  may 
not  recollect  indifferent  persons  in  a  moment,  but  per- 
sons not  indifferent,  but  engaging,  one  does  not  so 
easily  forget." 

"  Engaging,  sir ! "  said  George,  "  what  can  you  mean 
by  engaging?" 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Grove  in  a  whisper,  "  is  it  possible 
one  should  meet  on  one's  walk  such  a  beautiful  girl  as 
Miss  Julia  Decastro,  with  her  milk-pail  on  her  arm,  and 
all  her  rustic  charms  about  her,  and  sooner  recollect 
having  met  a  game-keeper,  or — a  park-keeper,  or — a 
lady's  maid — than  such  a  lovely  young  woman  ?  You 
must  be  made  of  stone,  George." 

"  No,  indeed,  sir,  I  am  not  made  of  stone,"  said  he 
with  a  deep  blush. 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  don't  think  you  are,"  quoth  Mr. 
Grove,  "  or,  if  you  were,  I  think  your  stone  must  all  be 
melted  when  you  sit,  and  talk  with  Julia,  and  make  love 
to  her  under  the  great  oak,  George." 

"  I  make  love  to  Julia ! "  said  George  in  a  great  flutter 
— "who  ever  could  tell  you  such  a  thing,  sir?  I  am 
sure,  sir — I  am  sure,  sir — hem,  hem — I  am  sure,  sir,  I 
don't  know  what  great  oak  you  mean,  sir — there  are  a 
great  many  great  oaks  in  Mr.  Decastro's  grounds." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Grove,  "you  must  have  made  a 
great  deal  of  love  if  you  have  made  love  under  them 
all,  George." 

Poor  George  was  so  confounded  that  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was,  or  what  he  said.  Upon  this  Mr.  Grove 
[:*52] 


St)f  totorp  of  05r*  2f|otjrt  ©ccastro 

made  George  sit  by  him  on  a  garden  seat,  and,  putting 
his  mouth  close  to  his  son's  ear,  communicated  a  whis- 
per into  it  that  lasted  two  hours :  the  sum  of  which 
was,  that  such  a  poor  girl  as  Julia  was  by  no  means  a 
fit  match  for  one  of  his  expectations;  to  her  family 
there  could  lie  no  objection,  being  related  to  very  many 
great  folks,  but  as  her  father  was  no  more  than  a  rack- 
rent  tenant  under  his  brother,  and  had  nothing  which 
he  could  call  his  own  besides  his  little  savings  and  his 
small  living,  the  disparity  was  so  great  between  him 
and  Julia,  whom  he  very  much  praised,  that  the  con- 
nection could  not  be  thought  of:  and  farther,  he  had 
the  daughter  of  a  nobleman  in  his  eye  with  whom  he 
could  be  sure  of  an  alliance,  having  already  felt  his 
ground  upon  it,  but  it  were  time  and  time  enough  yet 
for  so  very  young  a  man  to  think  about  a  wife,  or  his 
father  for  him.  He  made  up  his  conclusion  with  very 
many  praises  on  George,  whom  he  called  a  very  good 
and  very  dutiful  child,  and  hoped  he  should  find  him 
continue  so  in  this  instance. 

Upon  which  he  arose  and  left  George  upon  the  garden 
seat  wrapped  in  deep  meditation :  and  there  he  would 
have  sat  all  night  if  the  butler  had  not  been  sent  to  call 
him  in  to  supper. 

George  arose  early  the  next  morning,  and  as  his 
father  had  not  laid  any  special  injunctions  on  him  which 
way  he  were  to  walk,  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  make 
the  best  of  his  way  to  the  cow-pastures,  where,  early 
as  he  was,  he  found  Julia  had  milked  half  a  dozen  cows 
and  carried  home  almost  as  many  pails  of  milk  before 
he  got  there.  The  cow  which  she  happened  to  be 
milking  when  George  came  into  the  grounds,  for  Julia 
saw  him,  by  some  accident,  the  moment  he  came  to  the 

[253] 


Wqt  J?isftor£  of  £0t.  3|oljn  SDecastro 

stile,  would  not  stand  to  the  pail,  but  for  some  reason 
or  other,  kept  edging  away  until  the  old  hussy  had 
edged  herself  out  of  the  sight  of  the  house ;  it  was  too 
early  in  the  morning  for  the  flies  to  sting  her,  but,  not- 
withstanding, whether  Julia  stuck  pins  into  her,  or  for 
what  other  reason,  one  of  the  quietest  milkers  on  the 
farm  was  very  full  of  the  fidgets  that  morning,  and 
would  not  stand  to  be  milked  until  she  got  among  the 
trees,  and  Julia  was  fain  to  follow  the  old  toad,  with 
her  pail  in  one  hand,  and  her  milking-stool  on  the  other, 
until  she  came  up  to  George  Grove,  and  then  she  stood 
quiet  enough,  for  he  held  a  bough  for  her  to  browse 
while  Julia  milked  her,  and  that  was  what  she  was  run- 
ning after :  for  George  was  very  kind  to  the  cows,  and 
had  use  to  kiss  them  and  feed  them  while  Julia  was  a- 
milking. 

Julia  turned  her  face  away  when  George  came  near 
to  hide  a  pretty  blush,  and,  luckily,  Old  Rose,  the  cow, 
was  quiet  all  on  a  sudden,  so  she  sat  down  and  began 
to  milk  her.  George  then  told  her  everything  which 
had  passed  between  himself  and  his  father,  and  ex- 
pressed his  wonder  how  his  father  could  have  come  to 
a  knowledge  of  what  was  only  known,  as  he  thought, 
to  themselves.  Julia,  having  a  good  opportunity  to 
hide  her  face  in  the  cow's  side  as  she  was  milking,  told 
George  that  her  father  had,  by  some  means  or  other, 
become  acquainted  with  what  passed  between  them  the 
last  time  they  met  in  the  meadows,  and  she  was  apt  to 
think  that  he  had  communicated  what  he  knew  to  Mr. 
Grove.  George  had  no  doubt  of  the  thing,  having 
heard  that  Old  Crab  had  been  at  Hindermark,  but  how 
he  could  know  what  he  knew,  surpassed  every  guess 
they  could  make. 

[254] 


&\)t  f?t$tor£  of  spr.  3]ol;n  £>ecastro 

Julia  was  now  become  more  afraid  to  stay  in  the 
meadows  than  she  used  to  be,  so  as  soon  as  she  had 
milked  she  hurried  home,  but  not  before  she  had  been 
prevailed  upon  to  meet  George  in  the  meadows  at  a 
less  suspicious  time  of  day,  excusing  her  absence  at 
home  to  carry  some  wood-strawberries  to  the  castle,  of 
which  Mr.  Decastro  was  very  fond. 

George  waited  some  time  at  the  appointed  place, 
which  was  a  little  copse  at  the  corner  of  a  meadow, 
when  Julia  presently  made  her  appearance,  and  they 
retired  to  a  very  secret  place  in  the  grove  together. 
George  took  Julia's  hand,  and  they  sat  down  upon  a 
bank  of  soft  moss  at  the  foot  of  a  shady  elm,  which, 
like  the  lord  of  the  place,  had  taken  possession  of  a 
good  circuit  of  ground,  and  kept  the  lesser  shrubs  at 
an  awful  distance.  Now  a  long  conversation  took  place 
between  the  lovers,  full  of  innocence  and  simplicity,  for 
they  were  both  very  young,  and  thought  it  a  very  odd 
thing  that  made  them  so  fond  of  each  other.  Their  talk 
ran  much  upon  their  mutual  affection,  and  their  duty 
to  their  parents,  and  great  grief  it  was  that  it  opposed 
their  love.  They  both  agreed  that  if  they  disobeyed 
their  parents  that  they  were  sure  to  be  very  miserable, 
and  though  they  could  meet  in  the  place  where  they 
sat,  every  day,  they  could  never  be  happy  when  they 
knew  that  they  should  not  be  allowed  to  do  so,  if  the 
thing  were  known.  Fathers  and  mothers,  and  duty 
and  obedience,  fly,  like  moths,  about  Love's  torch,  and 
at  last  into  it  and  get  burned  to  death. 

George  and  Julia  came  often  to  this  place,  but  not 
at  milking  time,  for  fear  of  Old  Crab ;  and  if  anything 
were  like  to  prevent  either  from  keeping  the  appoint- 
ment a  note  was  to  be  left  for  the  other  under  a  large 

[255] 


(El)e  fyi&toty  of  spr.  31oljn  SDecaatro 

stone  which  George  took  out  of  a  little  brook  which 
ran  by  the  foot  of  the  great  elm.  The  castle  tower 
clock  now  struck  two,  which  gave  Julia  warning  to  get 
home  in  time  for  dinner,  which  would  be  in  half  an 
hour,  and,  after  a  little  coyness,  she  permitted  George 
to  kiss  her  lips,  and  they  parted. 

We  have  run  a  little  too  far  into  this  love  affair  in 
this  chapter,  but  must  stand  our  ground  here  to  make 
good  our  promise  at  the  beginning  of  it,  and  in  order 
to  it  shall  turn  our  style  to  Genevieve,  and  proceed  to 
give  some  further  account  of  her :  and  first  of  her  for- 
tune, a  matter  of  prime  importance,  for,  to  do  justice 
to  the  wisdom  of  the  world,  when  a  woman  is  first  seen 
in  it  the  first  question  that  is  asked  is,  "  How  much- 
money  is  she  worth  ? "  In  answer  to  which  we  have 
already  said  that  her  father  left  her  all  his  property, 
for  she  was  the  only  child  that  lived,  and  that  amounted 
to  a  vast  sum  of  money;  which,  by  the  careful  govern- 
ment of  Old  Crab,  her  guardian,  had  bred  like  a  rabbit. 
The  Berkshire  estate  which,  as  it  may  be  recollected,  he 
bought  of  his  brother  for  her  use,  was  very  improve- 
able,  and  he  had  done  so  well  in  it  as  to  add  one-fourth 
part  to  its  value ;  but  he  got  little  credit  for  his  pains, 
inasmuch  as  he  himself  standing  in  reversion  to  all  his 
niece's  property,  in  case  of  her  death  under  age,  the 
world  was  so  good  as  to  say  that  he  had  one  eye  to 
himself  and  one  to  his  ward. 

"What  the  plague  is  the  world  to  me,"  quoth  Old 
Crab ;  "  it  can  give  me  nothing  that  I  want,  and  can 
take  nothing  that  I  care  one  farthing  for  away ;  I  had 
rather  be  cursed  than  praised  by  what  deserves  rather 
to  be  cursed  than  praised ;  if  there  were  no  honest  man 
to  be  damned,  there  would  be  no  use  for  a  set  of  rascals ; 
[256] 


<Etje  C?t0toin?  of  93r.  31oim  Drcaatco 

as  long  as  I  have  their  ill  word  they  shall  have  my 
thanks." 

But  to  return  to  Genevieve: — as  few  women  ever 
had  more  money,  so  certainly  few  women  ever  wanted 
less :  and,  indeed,  having  fixed  her  affections  on  a  very 
sensible  young  man,  she  fell  into  despair  of  ever  getting 
an  offer  from  him  upon  account  of  these  her  large  pos- 
sessions, and  wished  herself  poor  in  order  to  save  his 
credit  in  an  offer.  Genevieve  was  now  nineteen  years 
of  age,  and  was  archly  called  by  Old  Comical,  from  her 
size,  a  great  beauty ;  she  was,  indeed,  six  feet  high,  but, 
at  the  same  time,  so  very  large  as  not  to  appear  to  be 
so  tall,  but  her  form  was  without  a  fault  if  her  size 
were  no  fault.  One  of  her  most  singular  properties, 
very  singular  in  a  woman,  and  may  be  thought  by  some 
to  be  no  beauty,  was  her  prodigious  strength.  If  the 
word  incredible  be  put  instead  of  prodigious,  some, 
perhaps,  will  be  better  contented,  and  indeed  we  had 
been  as  glad  to  have  passed  the  mention  of  it,  and 
staked  no  credit  on  it,  had  not  some  passages  in  our 
history  made  such  mention  necessary.  And  if  the  won- 
derful examples  of  it  soon  to  be  recorded  be  disbelieved, 
we  cannot  help  it,  though,  indeed,  we  cannot  see  what 
interest  or  advantage  can  come  from  telling  untruths. 

In  regard  to  her  beauty,  we  will  not  say  that  no 
woman  was  ever  so  handsome,  we  think  we  may  safely 
say,  however,  none  were  ever  more  so.  Her  complex- 
ion was  the  finest  of  brunettes,  her  hair  and  eyes  were 
as  black  as  jet,  her  nose  Grecian,  lips  full,  and  mouth 
beautifully  formed,  teeth  very  neatly  set  and  very 
white,  her  eyes  far  apart,  very  bright  and  sparkling  at 
times,  at  others  suffused  with  a  tender  moisture  which 
quenched  their  fires ;  when  she  was  serious  there  was 

17  [257] 


W(\t  distort!  of  Spr.  31oljn  £>rcastio 

a  severe  majesty  in  her  countenance  which  occasioned 
a  little  too  much  awe,  but  when  she  smiled  there  was 
so  much  sweetness  in  it  as  no  pencil,  much  less,  per- 
haps, any  pen  can  give  an  adequate  idea  of. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  she  was  taken  from  school,  and 
had  gone  annually  to  town  with  Mrs.  Decastro  and  Mr. 
Grove's  family,  and  this  in  obedience  to  her  father's 
will  and  directions;  she  had  been  introduced  to  all 
places  of  fashionable  resort  in  London ;  and  to  most,  if 
not  all,  the  families  and  houses  of  distinguished  people. 
So  much  money  and  so  much  beauty  could  not  fail  of 
much  notice;  she  soon  had  many  lovers,  and  many 
offers,  of  which  in  their  places  due  regard  will  be  had. 
Genevieve  was  a  woman  of  very  strong  passions,  and, 
though  much  tamed  and  broken  by  good  education,  and 
laid  under  moral  check,  and  timely  restraint,  by  the 
excellent  advice  of  her  guardian,  these  wild  horses  of 
the  soul  would  plunge  and  prance  at  times  and  break 
their  harness. 

She  was  much  attached  to  the  country,  and  always 
went  to  London  against  her  will — an  odd  humour  in 
such  a  young  woman  as  Genevieve,  who  had  so  much 
shining  stuff  about  her:  and  strange  it  was  that  so 
great  a  beauty  cared  so  little  to  be  seen.  It  might, 
however,  in  some  sort  be  accounted  for  by  her  love  of 
country  amusements,  and  rustic  occupations,  one  of 
which  was  working  on  her  uncle's  farm,  to  which  her 
great  strength  was  not  ill  suited;  and,  further,  from 
her  having  fixed  her  affections  on  a  young  gentleman 
who  resided  altogether  in  the  country:  that,  "further," 
some  will  say,  has  a  stronger  pull  than  all  the  rest  pull- 
ing together:  well,  they  that  understand  pulls  ought 
to  be  judges. 

[258] 


Crjc  Distort?  of  £0t\  3f]orjit  Drcastro 

No  woman  ever  had  so  much  beauty  that  made  less 
pride  of  it ;  none  ever  attired  herself  to  so  much  ad- 
vantage with  so  little  finery ;  none  ever  exerted  herself 
so  much  against  herself,  and  whether  she  held  her 
beauty  cheap  because  she  had  so  much  of  it,  cannot  be 
said,  but  she  set  so  little  store  by  it  as  rather  to  put  it, 
with  her  money,  amongst  her  encumbrances  than  her 
advantages.  Why  so?  because  she  was  jealous  of 
both,  and  thought  her  understanding  between  them 
could  get  no  credit :  give  a  woman  money  and  beauty, 
and  let  her  either  do  or  say  a  foolish  thing  if  she 
can. 

This  was  a  strange  whim  of  Genevieve's,  to  fall  out 
with  those  very  things  that  never  fail  to  bring  every 
perfection  of  human  nature  along  with  them :  but  she 
had  set  her  heart  upon  pleasing  a  philosopher ;  what 
odd  things  women  take  in  their  heads !  she  had  set  her 
heart  upon  pleasing  a  philosopher,  and  that  was  the 
reason  why  she  ran  mad. 

But  it  was  not  altogether  Genevieve's  fault,  for  Old 
Crab  had  lent  a  helping  hand  to  turn  the  woman's 
brains  by  putting  a  parcel  of  queer  notions  into  her 
head  that  seldom  or  ever  came  into  a  woman's  head 
before.  She  was  certainly  a  woman  of  great  accom- 
plishment and  elegance,  and  how  could  she  be  other- 
wise, bred  at  one  of  the  best  schools  in  town,  and  in- 
troduced by  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Decastro,  into  the  first  and 
best  societies  ?  what  the  devil  had  Old  Crab  to  do  with 
teaching  a  woman  of  fashion  the  Latin  language  ?  But 
it  gave  such  a  furtherance  to  a  right  understanding  of 
the  Italian,  French  and  English,  that  Genevieve  studied 
it  with  great  assiduity. — If  a  woman  of  fashion  cannot 
count  her  own  fingers,  what  signifies  that?     Old  Crab 

[259] 


fEtje  fymovy  of  spr.  3lotjn  EDecastro 

must  needs  teach  his  ward  Genevieve  arithmetic,  and 
she  took  it  into  her  head  to  be  very  fond  of  it,  and  no 
bill  for  any  sort  of  work,  or  thing,  came  amiss  to  her ; 
she  could  cast  it  as  well  as  a  tradesman,  and  better  too, 
sometimes,  as  some  found  to  their  no  little  confusion. 
Old  Crab  would  not  let  her  alone  yet ;  she  had  a  very 
fine  property  both  in  land  and  money,  and  he  must 
needs  teach  her  how  to  take  care  of  it,  instruct  her 
in  the  laws  which  concerned  and  protected  it,  and 
put  her  in  a  way  to  do  that  for  herself  which  her 
sex  are  fain  to  call  in  a  rogue  of  the  other  to  do  for 
them. 

Here  follows  some  account  of  Lady  Charlotte  Orby. — 
She  was  the  only  child  of  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  a 
school-fellow  and  intimate  friend  of  Genevieve.  None 
are  intimate  friends,  some  say,  that  are  not  of  like 
principles ;  we  shall  take  our  advantage,  however,  of  an 
exception  to  say,  that  it  is  just  possible  for  some  folks 
to  be  in  the  wrong ;  but  they  will  shoot  out  their  lips 
at  us  even  then  and  tell  us  that  there  is  no  exception 
without  an  exception :  what  a  slippery  thing  the  tongue 
is ! — No  pains  or  expense  had  been  spared  in  the  edu- 
cation of  the  accomplished  Lady  Charlotte  Orby — she 
was  so  polished  that  she  had  no  one  rough  thing  about 
her — no — nothing  that  the  file  or  the  chisel  had  not 
touched — she  was  a  diamond  of  the  first  water :  such  a 
combination,  such  an  harmony  of  graces  rarely  met  in 
one  woman :  the  gold  lay  thick  upon  her  gingerbread : 
the  best  of  everything  had  been  picked  out  for  her,  and 
the  question  was  not  what  an  elegance  cost,  but  where 
it  might  be  had  ?  The  best  masters  of  every  art  were 
called,  and  when  they  saw  the  beauty  and  excellence  of 
the  materials  they  went  to  work  with  great  readiness, 

[260] 


&\)t  history  of  £Wr.  31olm  Dccastro 

as  they  soon  found  they  were  like  enough  to  get  credit 
for  their  pains. 

Lady  Charlotte  had  a  very  fine  person,  a  superior 
intellect,  and  a  beautiful  face :  but  as  the  education  of 
women  takes  little  care  of  anything  but  the  outside, 
that  of  Lady  Charlotte,  it  is  true,  was  made  to  shine,  it 
had  every  ornament  that  could  be  crowded  upon  it; 
but  the  inside  of  this  charming  woman  was  left  to  shift 
for  itself.  She  was  a  shrewd  hussy  and  knew  very  well 
what  she  wanted  when  all  her  masters  were  discharged, 
and  never  paid  a  bill  without  putting  it  into  the  hands 
of  her  friend  Genevieve  to  see  if  it  were  cast  up  rightly. 
She  was  extremely  cunning,  cool  when  others  were 
warm,  though  herself  of  a  warm  constitution,  could  con- 
ceal her  inclinations  by  making  no  secret  of  them, — 
which  brought  them  into  doubt.  None  knew  where  to 
lie  in  wait  for  her,  she  would  fall  into  any  toils  to 
choose,  for  it  was  always  her  aim  to  pass  herself  off  for 
a  fool.  She  used  to  say  that  everybody  did  not  know 
all  the  advantages  of  being  a  fool ;  and  indeed  the  sense 
she  had  of  her  deficiencies  was  no  mean  part  in  her ; 
some  she  supplied  by  her  own  industry  and  concealed 
others  by  telling  what  none  could  believe  from  her 
manner  of  telling,  by  which  she  put  a  good  counte- 
nance upon  asking  for  instruction ;  yes,  a  good  face  upon 
asking  for  instruction.  When  her  education  was  fin- 
ished, which  cost  her  father  upward  of  two  thousand 
pounds,  she  could  not  count  her  own  fingers  twice  to- 
gether without  making  a  false  reckoning  of  it.  She 
therefore  found  that  she  was  much  to  seek  for  arith- 
metic, and  if  her  friend  Genevieve  were  not  at  hand  to 
help  her  out,  she  was  e'en  forced  to  pay  her  bills  and 
trust  her  creditors  for  their  honesty ;  thus,  not  know- 

[261] 


&\)t  History  of  mv.  31oljn  Drcastro 

ing  if  a  bill  were  right  or  wrong,  she  never  paid  one 
with  any  satisfaction  unless  her  friend,  who  was  a  good 
accomptant,  was  at  her  elbow. 

"Jenny,"  said  she,  "do  teach  me  some  accounts,  or 
I  shall  be  cheated  and  laughed  at  as  long  as  I  live." 

Genevieve  agreed,  and  Lady  Charlotte  soon  was 
made  mistress  of  as  much  arithmetic  as  she  was  ever 
like  to  want,  and  when  once  she  got  hold  of  it  she 
never  lost  it,  for  she  was  so  fond  of  it  that  she  was 
always  a-summing.  Her  education  cost  upward  of  two 
thousand  pounds,  it  is  true,  but  she  knew  nothing  about 
threading  a  needle,  and  the  sly  baggage  picked  out  of 
Julia  all  she  wanted  in  this  way,  and  could  make  a 
gown,  a  cap  or  a  petticoat,  and  scandal  has  not  stuck 
to  say  that  her  ladyship  could  mend  a  stocking !  She 
picked  up  a  good  deal  of  religion  out  of  her  uncle  Old 
Crab,  but  she  kept  it  a  secret  for  fear  of  getting  laughed 
at  by  some  of  her  acquaintance. 

Some  country  folks  may  ask  what  sort  of  school  she 
could  be  put  to  not  to  be  taught  these  things,  and  re- 
ligion especially  ?  School !  why  one  of  the  best,  to  be 
sure,  where  such  things  are  not  expected,  for  how  can 
people  teach  what  they  know  nothing  at  all  about  them- 
selves ?  Then  she  never  went  to  church  for  fear  of 
getting  laughed  at  ?  Yes,  she  might  do  that  without 
being  thought  religious,  any  who  would  be  thought  to 
have  a  taste  for  music  and  beautiful  language  may  very 
well  go  to  church,  without  being  suspected  of  any  queer 
notions.  Lady  Charlotte  certainly  went  to  a  very  high 
school,  and  lost  no  time  in  picking  up  a  great  deal  of 
low  cunning  in  it,  by  which  she  brought  the  very  exist- 
ence of  the  man  whom  she  loved  into  danger.  She 
was  a  sprightly  one,  and  very  fond  of  fun,  trick,  and 
[262] 


&\)c  ^ififtor?  of  i$r.  31olm  SDccaatro 

merriment,  but  she  not  only  kept  all  her  secrets  to  her- 
self, but  even  that  of  having  any  secrets  at  all  to  keep. 
Genevieve  loved  her  with  all  her  oddities,  and  would 
have  loved  her  as  well  as  she  loved  the  pretty  milk-maid 
Julia,  if  she  had  used  her  friend  with  a  little  more  gen- 
erosity. She  had  another  fault,  she  looked  very  sharp 
after  her  money,  and,  though  she  had  fifty  thousand 
pounds  in  fortune,  would  make  her  own  caps,  gowns, 
and  petticoats ;  she  said  there  was  not  only  great  inde- 
pendence in  it,  but  she  best  knew  her  own  proportions. 
We  are  not  sure  if  our  readers  will  like  her  ladyship, 
more  especially  when  we  add  that  she  was  a  first-rate 
beauty.  She  said  she  was  glad  that  she  was  a  beauty 
because  she  had  a  better  chance  to  get  the  man  she 
loved,  and  such  a  cunning  baggage  could  scarcely  miss 
of  any,  for  she  had  a  thousand  kittenish  tricks  and  art- 
ful wiles,  and  seldom  failed  to  carry  her  point,  when 
none  knew  where  she  was  at  work.  But  this  shall 
content  us  for  this  chapter,  so  put  your  spectacles  by, 
old  lady,  and  we  will  give  you  another  relish  presently. 


[263] 


CHAPTER   XXI 

How  Genevieve  was  introduced  at  Court — Some  Account  of 
her  Lovers — One  of  which  was  Baron  Rump,  a  fat  man  of 
great  consequence  because  a  great  deal  came  behind  him. 

Notwithstanding  the  contempt  in  which  the  high 
and  exalted  mind  of  Mrs.  Decastro  held  the  gay  world 
and  all  its  pretty  playthings,  she  duly  paid  an  annual 
visit  to  London  at  the  very  time  when  everybody  is 
there,  being  willing,  it  seemed,  to  double  her  hands 
upon  it,  have  the  credit  of  being  above  it,  and  enjoy  it 
at  the  same  time.  Mr.  Decastro  was  paying  his  wife 
some  compliments  one  day,  and,  while  he  was  oiling 
her  ear,  Old  Crab  came  in. 

"John,"  quoth  he,  rising  upon  his  toes  and  putting 
his  hands  into  his  breeches'  pockets  as  his  manner 
was,  "John,"  quoth  he,  "what  art  at?" 

"  I  was  only  casting  up  my  wife's  good  qualities, 
brother  Bat,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "that's  all." 

"They  are  soon  reckoned,  John,"  quoth  Old  Crab, 
"you'll  make  no  blunder  there  if  you  can  count  three." 

"  She  is  a  prize  in  the  lottery,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
"  a  very  great  prize.  She  has  twenty  thousand  virtues, 
brother  Bat." 

"  Twenty  thousand  fools'  heads !  "  quoth  Old  Crab ; 
"  the  woman  is  more  like  a  lottery  taken  altogether ;  a 
little  bit  of  paper  stuck  on  a  post  holds  all  the  prizes, 
but  where  the  devil  will  they  find  a  wall  broad  enough 
to  hold  all  the  blanks?  Brother  John,"  quoth  Old 
Crab,  "  thou  art  an  ass." 

[264] 


<L\)t  JnstotD  of  %x.  3f!o?jn  SDrcaatro 

Mrs.  Decastro,  however,  to  give  her  her  due,  made  a 
great  merit  of  her  temperance  in  gay  matters,  and 
always  left  London  when  she  was  tired  of  it,  which  is 
more  than  many  fine  ladies  can  do  who  get  in  and  can- 
not get  out  again,  and  for  this  reason,  viz.,  they  are 
such  precious  things  that  folks  get  hold  of  them  and 
lock  them  up,  just  as  they  do  their  jewels,  and  will  not 
part  with  them  for  a  trifle.  No  fear  of  locking  up, 
however,  in  Mrs.  Decastro's  case,  not  but  what  she  was 
a  jewel — no — not  but  what  she  was  a  jewel,  for  Mr. 
Decastro  allowed  her  a  princely  sum  of  money,  the 
guineas  chimed  in  Mrs.  Decastro's  pockets  like  bells 
in  a  belfry — rung  a  glorious  peal — noli  me  tangere, 
quoth  she  to  the  constable ! 

She  made  her  appearance  in  town  again  in  a  mode 
of  splendour  suitable  to  her  husband's  fortune  and  dig- 
nity, and,  a  saucy  jade !  went  to  Lady  St.  Clair's  mas- 
querade with  a  butter-basket  in  her  hand ;  everybody 
had  heard  the  story,  and  a  great  many  wished  her  and 
her  butter  at  the  devil :  she  was  as  full  of  malice  as  a 
scorpion,  and  so  had  rather  been  stung  by  fifty  than 
seen  Mrs.  Decastro  blazing  away  again,  like  the  sun 
without  a  cloud. 

Ads-bobs!  but  we  have  forgot  Genevieve;  fathers 
and  mothers  get  so  fond  of  their  daughters  that  they 
are  never  content  until  they  show  them  to  the  king  and 
queen,  a  gang  of  homely  minxes  not  worth  a  beggar's 
looking  on.  Genevieve  rose  upon  the  court  like  the 
morning  star  in  the  forehead  of  the  east;  her  aunt, 
Mrs.  Decastro,  introduced  her  there  when  she  was  but 
eighteen  years  of  age.  Now  Genevieve,  being  the 
daughter  of  a  Jew,  put  folks  very  much  in  mind  of 
money,  and  not  without  good  cause,  for  she  had  a 
[265] 


Wqi  tyistoty  of  S0v.  3fiotm  2Drcastro 

thundering  pocket.  It  was  more  like  a  great  hop-bag 
than  anything  else,  and  crammed  with  money,  till  it 
was  ready  to  burst:  her  fortune  was  given  out  by  Mrs. 
Decastro  at  one  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  no  lie 
told,  no,  no  lie  told — her  aunt  was  rather  under  the 
mark  than  over  it. 

Adrabbit  it !  how  the  men  came  about  her !  the  very 
devil  himself  had  no  chance !  The  first  cavalier  who 
made  his  bows  to  her  was  the  Honourable  Mr.  H.,  a 
young  man  bred  in  high  life  with  a  small  fortune  and 
large  desires.  Genevieve  refused  him,  seeing  that  he 
had  at  least  as  many  eyes  fixed  on  her  fortune  as  her- 
self. Indeed  she  detected  him  in  the  thing,  and  gave 
him  such  a  rebuke  to  his  face  that  he  quitted  the  room 
one  day  in  no  small  confusion,  and  that  was  his  death 
blow. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  showing  him  an  intercepted  letter, 
"  my  money  in  the  funds,  and  my  estate  in  Berkshire, 
shall  not  be  my  rivals  in  any  one's  affections,"  and, 
making  Mr.  H.  a  very  low  courtesy,  she  left  him  to  his 
meditations. 

"So,  brother,"  said  Lord  Delamere  to  Mr.  H.,  "the 
thing  is  off  between  you  and  Miss  De  Roma? " 

"Upon  my  soul,"  said  Mr.  H.,  "I  had  cursed  bad 
luck  in  that  business." 

"A  man  may  cast  a  die,  then ? "  said  his  lordship. 

"  Cast  as  many  as  you  will,"  said  Mr.  H.,  "I  shall  see 
her  no  more ;  after  what  has  happened  I  had  as  lief  see 
the  devil:  go  on  and  prosper,  my  lord,  I  have  done 
with  her." 

Whereupon  his  lordship  made  Genevieve  his  visit, 
bows  and  speeches,  in  vain,  for  she  turned  up  her  nose 
at  all  three,  told  his  lordship  that  time  was  precious, 

[266] 


die  history  of  $Bt.  31ol)n  SDecastro 

and  bade  him  not  waste  his  upon  her.  Now  his  lord- 
ship stuck  to  her  petticoats  like  a  bur,  but  she  was  in 
no  such  sticking  humour,  forasmuch  as  the  heat  of  his 
lordship's  passion  could  not  melt  her  wax,  and  so,  as 
we  were  a-saying,  she  could  not  be  brought  to  stick, 
or,  to  come  back  to  the  bur,  for  polite  authors  always 
take  their  leave  of  their  metaphors  and  similes,  seem 
sorry  to  part,  and  the  like,  and  never  kick  them  out  of 
doors  in  a  moment — now,  as  we  are  here  alive,  we  have 
forgot  what  we  were  going  to  say  about  the  bur !  so 
good  Mr.  Bur,  many  thanks  for  coming  in  by  way  of 
simile,  we  hope  your  brothers  and  sisters  are  well,  and 
wish  you  health  and  happiness. 

Ahem — where  the  devil  are  we  ?  O — we  were  talk- 
ing about  my  lord — and  Genevieve's  petticoats,  yes  he 
stuck  to  them  like  a  bur,  until  it  came  to  pass  one  day 
that  his  lordship  made  a  dash  at  Genevieve's  hand, 
snapt  at  it,  videlicet,  as  a  dog  snaps  at  a  bit  of  raw 
meat,  not  that  Genevieve's  hand  was  like  a  bit  of  beef, 
no,  we  don't  mean  to  say  that,  forasmuch  as  it  was  as 
white  as  the  breast  of  a  chicken, — his  lordship  made  a 
dash  at  it,  however,  be  that  as  it  may,  yes,  made  a  dash 
at  it,  and  open-mouthed  too — and  this  in  order  to  kiss 
it,  sweet  pretty  little  thing !  But  it  came  all  on  a  sud- 
den slap  upon  his  lordship's  face  with  so  much  force 
and  rapture  that  it  laid  him  at  full  length  on  the  floor. 

"  I  am  astonished  at  your  impertinence,"  said  Gene- 
vieve. "  I  am  willing  to  hope,  however,  that  you  have 
got  enough  at  my  hands  not  to  meddle  with  such 
dangerous  things  again."  Now  a  man  in  pain  is  apt  to 
be  a  little  out  of  humour ;  his  lordship  got  up  with  a 
bloody  nose  and  a  sprained  shoulder,  and  said,  "that 
as  far  as  the  knock  on  the  head  went,  so  far  he  had 
[267] 


(Efye  history  of  <$r.  3fjol)n  S>ecastt0 

certainly  to  thank  himself,  but  the  next  time  he  paid 
his  addresses  to  a  virago  it  should  be  his  fault  if  he  got 
his  skull  fractured." 

Genevieve  told  him  that  the  next  time  he  came  into 
her  room  she  would  take  him  up  in  the  tongs  and  put 
him  out  at  the  window.  Now  there  was  something 
very  odd  in  this,  for  most  ladies  love  to  feel  a  man's 
lips  upon  the  backside  of  their  hand,  but  Genevieve 
could  not  bear  a  man  to  touch  her  flesh.  How  strange 
that  was!  It  was  a  little  unnatural  too:  for  she  ought 
not  to  have  boxed  her  lover's  ears  unless  he  had  bit 
her  fingers.  His  lordship,  however,  took  no  further 
notice  of  it,  and,  to  tell  you  a  secret,  reader,  he  was 
very  glad  it  was  a  woman  that  struck  him,  for  if  he  had 
turned  to,  another  blow,  if  it  had  fallen  perpendicularly 
upon  his  pate,  would  have  driven  his  lordship  up  to  his 
head  in  the  floor  like  a  nail.  Thus  ended  this  matter, 
and  it  was  well  his  lordship  survived  it. 

The  next  that  fell  at  Genevieve's  feet  was  Colonel 
Barret,  whose  name  the  reader  is  already  acquainted 
with,  the  same  that  went  into  France  with  Frederick, 
who,  hearing  of  his  lordship's  overthrow,  made  a  matter 
of  courage,  it  would  seem,  as  a  soldier,  to  attack  so 
warlike  a  lady :  for  what  knocks  one  man  down  spurs 
up  another's  courage,  in  battle  especially.  To  proceed, 
— the  colonel  was  a  handsome  man,  had  a  very  martial 
air,  elegant  manners,  and  a  good  understanding,  and 
was  thought  to  be  not  very  disagreeable  to  Genevieve, 
for  she  would  talk  with  him  at  times,  which,  being  a 
thing  she  would  seldom  do  with  young  men  in  general, 
he  began  to  count  upon  it,  and,  one  day,  when  alone 
with  her,  was  hardy  enough  to  take  the  same  liberty 
which  had  been  fatal  to  Lord  Delamere.  Nothing  so 
[268] 


tB\)t  piston?  of  $0v.  31ot)n  decastro 

highly  offended  Genevieve  as  to  have  any  the  least 
liberty  taken  with  her  person.  The  colonel  seized  her 
hand  and  would  have  kissed  it,  when  the  powerful 
Genevieve  took  the  colonel  up,  chair  and  all  together, 
and  dashed  him  on  the  floor  with  so  much  violence  as 
to  break  the  chair  in  pieces  and  bruise  him  sadly :  he 
jumped  up,  however,  and,  hazarding  all  for  the  sake  of 
revenge,  caught  Genevieve  round  her  waist,  and,  in 
order  to  make  it  the  sweeter,  the  colonel  made  a  gallant 
push  for  her  lips.  Genevieve  disengaged  herself  from 
him  in  a  moment,  and  threw  him  on  the  floor  with  his 
head  against  the  wainscot  with  such  force  as  to  stun 
him  for  some  time. 

Mrs.  Decastro,  hearing  a  terrible  noise,  came  into 
the  room  in  great  haste,  and  found  Genevieve  with  her 
gown  torn,  and  the  colonel  sprawling  at  her  feet !  see- 
ing him  to  recover,  she  left  the  room  without  speaking 
one  word;  indeed,  she  said,  that  she  was  in  such  a 
rage  that  she  could  not  have  spoken  if  she  would. 

As  soon  as  the  colonel  arose,  he  gave  Mrs.  Decastro 
a  satisfactory  account  of  what  had  happened,  and  added, 
that,  although  he  was  to  blame  in  the  matter,  he  would 
make  Genevieve  rue  the  day  in  which  she  had  given 
him  such  usage :  and,  leaving  the  room  in  great  wrath, 
never  repeated  his  visit. 

After  a  servant  had  left  the  apartment,  who  had 
been  called  to  wipe  the  colonel's  blood  out  of  the  floor, 
for  the  poor  gentleman  bled  sadly,  Mrs.  Decastro  sent 
a  message  to  her  niece,  and  begged  to  speak  with  her. 

"My  dear  niece,"  said  she,  "if  you  have  any  the  least 
desire  to  get  well  married  and  settled  in  the  world,  this 
certainly  is  not  the  way  to  it,  for  no  man  will  risk  get- 
ting his  bones  broken  for  your  sake,  be  your  beauty  or 
[269] 


GTtje  piston?  of  £®v.  3f|otjn  SDttastro 

your  fortune  what  they  may :  surely  a  man  addressing 
a  lady  may  take,  or  may  even  kiss  her  hand,  it  is  in  the 
lover's  way  of  business,  there  is  nothing  indecent  in  it, 
custom  bears  him  out  in  it,  it  is  a  sign  of  his  gallantry, 
and  if  he  meets  with  a  frown  it  were  much,  but  cer- 
tainly it  is  not  a  crime,  to  be  punished  with  bloody  noses, 
or  broken  bones !  My  dearest  niece,  what  man  on  earth 
do  you  think  will  ever  dare,  for  the  word  is  not  too 
strong  for  my  purpose,  what  man  do  you  think  will 
ever  dare  to  marry  a  woman  that  gives  such  earnest  as 
you  have  given  Mr.  Barret  and  Lord  Delamere  ?  " 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  she,  "if  I  have  offended  you,  my 
dear  aunt,  and  am  willing  to  beg  your  pardon  on  my 
knees,  indeed  I  am,  but  I  will  never  endure  to  be  pawed 
over  by  these  men,  it  makes  me  shudder,  I  cannot  bear 
it,  I  think  I  could  as  soon  let  a  spider,  or  a  toad  crawl 
upon  me." 

"But,  my  dearest  niece,"  interrupted  she,  "if  you 
wish  to  get  married,  you  will  see  your  account  in  treat- 
ing all  men  with  civility,  or  you  will  find  to  your  cost, 
that  you  may  deter,  amongst  the  rest,  the  man  whom 
you  could  be  glad  to  choose  perhaps,  if  you  could  get  an 
offer.  It  is  good  policy  in  a  young  woman  who  has  no 
mind  to  die  an  old  maid,  to  part  with  any  she  may  not 
like  upon  civil  terms ;  for,  if  a  man  has  nothing  else  of 
value  about  him,  his  good  word  amongst  his  own  sex  is 
no  mean  matter,  niece,  it  may  help  you  to  the  man  of 
your  heart  when  he  finds,  that  if  he  asks  you  the  ques- 
tion, he  will,  at  all  events,  be  treated  with  tenderness 
and  feeling,  if  you  cannot  grant  him  any  further  favours. 
I  need  not  say  much  to  you,  niece,  upon  the  subject, 
you  have  too  much  good  sense  to  need  any  more  than 
a  hint  in  this  matter." 

[270J 


W^t  tyistorp  of  05i\  31otm  HOfcastro 

Genevieve  looked  very  serious  upon  this,  thanked 
her  aunt  very  kindly  for  her  good  advice,  and  they 
retired  to  dress  for  a  dinner  party. 

These  rencounters,  as  it  were  like,  set  people's 
tongues  in  motion,  and  when  one  told  the  thing  to 
another  it  was  asked,  emphatically,  if  he  had  heard  of 
"  the  battle  ?  "  Genevieve  and  her  aunt  dined  that  day 
at  the  house  of  a  great  person,  where  they  met  a  great 
many  fine  folks,  and  as  soon  as  they  entered  the  room, 
"That's  she,"  "There  she  is,"  "Here  she  comes,"  and 
other  the  like  notes  of  admiration  were  pretty  general 
on  all  hands. 

Wheresoever  Genevieve  appeared  the  beauty  and 
magnificence  of  her  person  attracted  universal  notice, 
but  she  was  rather  to  be  gazed  and  wondered  at  than  to 
be  loved,  until  one  became  acquainted  with  her.  It  was 
at  the  dinner  party  just  named,  that  she  met  with  Sir 
Thomas  Horsefall,  a  baronet  of  good  estate  and  family, 
who  was  the  next  that  paid  his  addresses  to  Genevieve: 
for  Mrs.  Decastro  so  managed  matters  as  to  let  it  soon 
be  known  when,  by  the  departure  of  one  lover,  room 
were  made  for  another:  and  it  was  said  by  some,  by 
way  of  scandal  perhaps,  that  she  wanted  to  get  her 
niece  married  and  out  of  her  way,  for,  being  still  a  fine 
woman  herself,  she  was  willing  to  be  the  sun  in  her 
own  system,  wherein  such  a  luminary  as  Genevieve 
more  than  disputed  that  title  with  her. 

Sir  Thomas  sat  next  Genevieve  at  dinner,  and  gave 
her  to  understand  that  he  had  heard  so  much  of  her 
beauty,  that  he  got  invited  that  day  on  purpose  to  be 
an  eye-witness  of  it,  and  added,  by  way  of  a  very  fine 
thing,  that  public  report,  having  done  the  best  it  could, 
was  fain  to  leave  the  eye  to  help  out  the  ear  in  the 
C27i] 


tE^tje  Jjistorp  of  Spr.  3f|otjn  ©rcastro 

matter :  at  which  piece  of  eloquence  Genevieve  laughed 
so  loud  as  to  be  heard  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the 
other.  This  the  baronet  took  for  an  encomium  on  his 
wit  and  parts,  and,  after  another  speech  or  two  equally 
brilliant,  which  had  the  honour  to  be  laughed  at  in  like 
manner,  he  thought  he  had  forelaid  his  ground,  got  in- 
troduced to  her  aunt  upon  it,  and,  after  half  a  score 
bows  and  as  many  grins,  broke  his  love  to  Mrs.  De- 
castro ;  who,  returning  a  courtesy  for  every  bow,  and  a 
smile  for  every  grin,  said,  that  if  her  niece  would  be  as 
willing  to  see  him,  as  she  should  be  happy  in  giving  his 
suit  every  furtherance,  his  prospect  was  as  good  as  any 
man  could  wish  it.  But  when  Sir  Thomas  was  told,  as 
befel  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  how  the  colonel  and 
his  bones  came  off  at  his  last  visit,  he  began  to  weigh 
matters  between  a  broken  heart  and  a  broken  head, 
whether  the  one  might  not  be  an  easier  death  than  the 
other.  But  love  is  apt  to  blind  people,  he  did  not  see 
all  his  danger,  and  in  a  few  days  mounted  his  coach-box 
and  paid  Genevieve  a  visit  with  a  four-horse-coach-whip 
in  his  hand. 

Mrs.  Decastro  had  broken  the  matter  to  her  niece, 
and  upon  Sir  Thomas  being  announced,  she  walked  into 
the  room  in  a  martial  step  and  received  Sir  Thomas's 
grins  and  bows  with  as  much  gravity  as  possible.  The 
baronet  had  certainly  a  very  fine  set  of  teeth,  the  best 
thing  he  had  in  his  head,  the  wit  to  show  them  on  all 
occasions  excepted,  which  he  did  by  an  eternal  grin  that 
must  have  captivated  Genevieve,  or  anybody  else  that 
loved  grinning.  After  a  little  common-place,  Mrs. 
Decastro  left  the  room,  whether  she  thought  two  might 
be  better  company  than  three,  or  did  as  she  would  have 
another,  or  was   pressed  by  any  little   necessity,   or 

[272] 


Wqt  totorp  of  9JH\  31otm  Decastro 

thought  there  was  one  too  many  in  it,  or  was  fright- 
ened at  the  baronet  with  his  mouth  open,  or  for  any, 
or  none,  or  all  of  these  reasons,  or  some  other,  she  left 
the  room,  as  it  hath  been  said,  and  her  niece  and  Sir 
Thomas  to  shift  for  themselves. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  there  was  a  deep  silence 
for  some  length  of  time,  whether  the  baronet  had  so 
many  fine  things  to  choose  out  of  that  he  did  not  know 
to  which  to  give  first  utterance,  or  whether  he  thought 
a  matter  of  such  importance  as  that  on  which  he  came 
introduced  by  a  solemn  pause  might  carry  more  dig- 
nity, or  whether  his  tongue  had  a  fit  of  the  palsy,  or 
his  wit  been  struck  with  an  apoplexy,  all  was  silence, 
however,  till  Genevieve  burst  into  a  loud  fit  of  laughter, 
which  broke  the  same  in  that  room  and  the  next  to  it. 
The  baronet  then  opened  his  mouth,  and  his  case,  and 
laid  the  disease  of  his  bosom  before  Genevieve,  and 
said,  that  he  hoped  she  would  pour  the  balm  of  her 
kindness  into  those  smarting  wounds  which  her  pierc- 
ing eyes  had  bored  in  his  heart.  Genevieve  was  in  a 
laughing  humour,  and  she  fell  into  another  fit  that 
made  her  sides  ache.  She  begged  Sir  Thomas's  pardon, 
however,  and  said,  that  when  a  fit  of  laughter  got  hold 
of  her  it  shook  her  whether  she  would  or  not,  but  where 
no  disrespect  was  intended  she  hoped  no  offence  would 
be  taken,  and  then  fell  a-laughing  again.  Whereupon 
the  baronet  arose,  and  said,  he  would  take  a  flourish 
round  some  of  the  squares  and  call  again,  and  hoped  to 
find  her  in  a  more  serious  humour. 

Poor   Sir  Thomas   never  paid  her  a   second   visit, 

however,  for  following  a  whim  he  had  to  shine  as  a 

coachman,  and  taking  his  life  into  his  own  hands,  he 

ran  his  carriage  against  a  post,  and  broke  his  neck, 

18  [273] 


TOe  History  of  spr,  3flo*)n  SDwastro 

which  made  a  great  deal  of  merriment  in  the  first 
circles. 

The  next  that  offered  was  a  little  black  fiery  man, 
like  a  grain  of  gunpowder,  a  member  of  parliament,  of 
great  eloquence,  and  some  poetry,  he  had  the  voice  of 
a  giant  and  the  body  of  a  pigmy ;  and  his  nose  came  up 
to  Genevieve's  tucker.  He  always  wore  boots,  because 
he  had  crooked  legs,  and  his  name,  a  long  name  for  a 
short  body,  was  Christopher  Cocky,  Esquire.  He  was 
very  brisk  and  lively,  and  had  an  odd  way  of  running 
round  Genevieve,  who,  being  such  a  large  tall  woman, 
when  he  spoke  behind  her,  hardly  knew  where  to  find 
him.  He  certainly  was  not  in  twenty  places  at  once, 
but  he  skipped  about  so  quick  that  he  was  as  near  it  as 
any  man  ever  could  be.  He  was  as  hot  as  fire,  and 
Genevieve  put  him  in  a  terrible  passion  once,  when  he 
skipt  more  than  common,  by  telling  him,  that  he  put 
her  in  mind  of  a  flea,  and  expected  him  to  hop  among 
her  petticoats  some  day. 

None  could  ever  get  Mr.  Cocky  to  sit  down,  the 
member  was  always  on  his  legs,  which  were  so  short 
and  crooked  that  the  legs  of  the  chairs  were  as  long 
again,  and  that  was  thought  to  be  the  reason  why  he 
would  not  sit  on  one.  He  made  his  advances  in  a  copy 
of  verses,  wherein,  to  use  his  own  phrase,  Genevieve's 
virtues  and  beauties  were  embalmed  for  the  admiration 
and  use  of  posterity.  Genevieve  played  the  rogue  with 
the  little  man,  and  entertained  him  and  his  passion,  as 
he  called  it,  for  her  own  amusement,  for  she  would  sit 
and  laugh  at  him  for  an  hour  together,  as  if  she  were 
at  a  puppet-show. 

She  mortally  offended  him  one  day,  being  in  a  great 
hurry  to  run  to  the  window  upon  some  account,  when 
C274] 


Ctje  $;tstor£  of  £l3r.  3;ot)it  Drcastro 

little  Cocky  skipt  just  in  her  way,  and  though,  if  she 
had  had  the  presence  of  mind,  she  might  have  stepped 
over  him,  she  took  him,  however,  by  the  tail  of  his  coat, 
which  he  always  kept  buttoned  close  to  his  body,  and 
lifted  him  out  of  her  way,  which,  by  raising  his  skirts, 
exposed  what  little  matter  he  had  under  them  to  all  in 
the  room,  and  made  the  ladies,  there  were  half  a  dozen 
present,  very  merry. 

Wherever  he  came  little  Cocky  was  a  great  holder 
forth,  and  would  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
harangue  the  company.  When  he  grew  facetious 
Genevieve  would  steal  up  close  behind  him,  and,  peep- 
ing over  little  Cocky's  head,  fix  her  eyes  upon  his  nose, 
which  stood  straight  out  of  his  countenance  like  a 
man's  finger,  and  had  a  little  wart  upon  its  tip.  This 
would  set  folks  a-laughing,  which  little  Cocky  took  to 
the  credit  of  his  wit  and  parts,  until,  directed  by  the 
eyes  of  the  company,  he  looked  up,  and  discovered  the 
jest  that  entertained  them  all,  to  his  no  little  mortifica- 
tion. Little  Cocky  had  a  long  purse  however,  though  he 
had  short  legs,  and  offered  larger  settlements  than  any 
who  had  yet  proposed  to  Genevieve.  Little  Cocky  was 
as  black  as  a  coal,  and  had  so  much  beard  that  he  shaved 
every  thing  on  his  face  except  his  nose  and  his  forehead. 

What  had  been  fatal  to  some  other  of  Genevieve's 
lovers  was  fatal  to  poor  little  Cocky,  for  one  day,  not- 
withstanding recent  examples,  getting  a  little  elevated 
by  a  couple  of  glasses  of  Madeira  which  he  had  taken 
with  his  sandwiches,  O  evil  star !  he  took  half  a  dozen 
skips  across  the  carpet  to  Genevieve's  chair,  and  mak- 
ing a  very  fine  speech  indeed,  behind  her  back,  clasped 
her  neck  as  she  sat,  and  gave  her  a  kiss  on  it !  She 
jumped  up,  boxed  both  his  ears  soundly,  and  put  him 

[275] 


W$t  Jtnstorp  of  99r.  3|oljn  Decastro 

fairly  out  of  the  room.  Little  Cocky  was  heard  to 
swear  a  loud  oath  outside  the  door,  and  never  came  to 
see  Genevieve  afterwards. 

The  next  season  Genevieve  came  to  town,  which  was 
the  last  time  she  came  with  her  aunt,  Baron  Rump,  a 
foreign  nobleman,  after  showing  much  attention  to  her 
at  public  and  other  places,  wrote  her  a  letter.  His 
mother,  who  was  in  England,  and  appeared  in  it  with 
great  splendour,  made  Mrs.  Decastro  a  visit,  and  said 
that  her  son  had  felt  a  tender  passion  for  her  niece  two 
or  three  years  last  past,  but  as  no  opportunity  could  be 
found  for  him  to  make  it  known  to  her  upon  account 
of  the  number  and  rapid  succession  of  her  admirers, 
truly  many,  but  multiplied  by  public  report  into  more, 
he  had  deferred  to  explain  matters  to  her  till  then, 
when  he  hoped  to  find  her  disengaged,  as  he  had  heard 
she  was,  to  receive  his  addresses.  Mrs.  Decastro  made 
her  best  acknowledgments  for  the  honour,  and  all  that, 
and  said  that  she  had  very  good  reasons  to  think  that 
her  niece's  affections  were,  and  had  been  some  time, 
engaged,  and  that  her  son,  highly  sensible  as  she  was 
of  so  much  honour,  had  best  not  think  any  more  of  her 
niece.  This,  however,  would  not  satisfy  the  old  lady, 
who  had  her  son's  interest  a  great  deal  at  heart,  and 
she  begged  to  speak  herself  to  Genevieve  on  the  subject. 

Mrs.  Decastro  then  showed  the  old  lady  into  her 
niece's  dressing-room,  and  left  them  together. 

Genevieve  paid  the  baron  and  his  mother  some  hand- 
some compliments,  but  begged  to  decline  receiving  him 
on  the  foot  of  a  lover.  The  old  lady  hoped  there  might  be 
nothing  improper  in  expressing  a  wish  to  be  satisfied  in 
the  reason  why  her  son  might  not  be  received  on  that 
foot? 

[276] 


tEtje  £>i0torv  of  99r.  31otm  SDecastro 

Genevieve  said :  "  I  will  deal  plainly  with  you  and 
your  son,  madam,  and  think  it  best  to  declare  at  once 
that  my  heart  is  not  my  own,  it  is  wholly  another's, 
and  I  therefore  conceive  it  to  be  doing  any  one  a  very 
great  injury  to  lead  your  son  to  expect  what  can  never 
be  granted." 

Upon  which  the  old  lady  made  Genevieve  a  compli- 
ment on  her  plain-dealing,  and  took  her  leave  with  a 
very  low  courtesy.  But  although  the  mother  was  sat- 
isfied, the  son  was  not,  who,  after  his  mother  had  made 
her  report,  wrote  a  letter  to  Genevieve  to  ask  her,  after 
fifty  apologies  tending  to  show  how  his  life  and  his 
happiness  were  engaged  upon  the  thing,  whether  the 
person  to  whom  her  affections  were  united  had  actually 
come  forward  upon  the  matter  ? 

Genevieve  said,  in  answer,  that  he  had  not,  and  might 
not,  but  that  made  no  difference  in  the  case.  She 
therefore  begged  him  to  desist  to  charge  his  hopes 
upon  any  the  least  thought  of  success. 

Baron  Rump  was  a  large  fat  man,  and  had  a  pro- 
tuberance to  make  one  think  him  nicknamed;  he 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  come  in  person,  as  many  things 
could  not  well  be  put  into  a  letter,  and  he  had  many  to 
say,  to  which,  to  deal  fairly  with  the  baron,  Genevieve 
agreed,  and  he  came  accordingly.  She  insisted,  how- 
ever, though  he  dropt  a  hint  to  the  contrary,  that  her 
aunt  might  remain  in  the  room,  and  hear  all  he  had  to 
say,  and  he  was  a  great  talker.  Finding  that  he  could 
not  have  matters  as  he  would,  he  e'en  took  them  as  he 
could,  and  made  a  declaration  of  one  of  the  most  ardent 
passions  that  ever  came  in  broken  English  from  a 
broken  heart ! 

"  He  had  confidence  enough  in  himself,"  he  said,  "  to 
[277] 


GTlje  piston?  of  $0t.  31otjn  SDccastro 

make  the  recovery  of  her  affections  a  sure  game,  and 
gathered  hopes  upon  it  as  a  proof  that  she  was  suscep- 
tible of  the  tender  passion,  and  counted  upon  his  as- 
siduities soon  to  disengage,  and  win  her  heart.  If, 
however,  after  all,  it  could  not  be  done,  he  took  upon 
him  so  much  as  to  say  that  he  knew  his  rival,  and  was 
determined,  at  all  events,  to  dispute  such  a  noble  prize 
with  him." 

Genevieve  interrupted  the  haughty  baron  with  say- 
ing, "That  it  was  quite  impossible  that  he  should  ever 
have  seen  the  person  to  whom  her  affections  were  en- 
gaged, and  if  they  were  at  that  moment  otherwise 
than  so,  he  had  given  her  such  an  earnest  of  his  dis- 
position, that  she  would  pick  a  husband,  if  she  wanted 
one,  out  of  a  slaughter-house,  sooner  than  marry  one 
of  his  turn." 

This  was  spoken  with  one  of  Genevieve's  majestic 
frowns  that  would  have  daunted  a  man  of  less  courage 
than  Baron  Rump,  who  said,  "  that  it  was  her  noble 
spirit  that  held  such  charms  for  him,  and  a  woman  who 
wanted  spirit  wanted  dignity." 

"  I  suppose,  sir,"  said  she,  "  by  disputing  the  prize 
you  speak  of,  you  mean  to  fight  the  man  whom  I  choose 
to  prefer  to  you,  though  by  shooting  his  brains  out, 
you  miss  your  aim  with  me,  which  would  be  a  most 
inevitable  consequence." 

That  was  his  meaning,  he  said,  and  held  it  out  that 
he  knew  the  man,  and  in  a  few  days  actually  sent  a 
challenge  to  a  Mr.  Brown,  who  went  to  the  Opera  with 
Genevieve  and  her  aunt,  and  handed  them  into  and  out 
of  their  carriage.  Mr.  Brown  read  the  note  with  no 
small  wonder,  and  said,  in  answer  to  it,  "That  there 
was  certainly  some  great  mistake,  for,  so  far  from  his 
[278] 


1£\)t  Ifrtstori1  of  £l3r»  31oi)u  ©rcascro 

being  any  rival  with  the  baron  in  Miss  de  Roma's  affec- 
tions, that  he  should  be  married  to  another  lady  in  few 
days ! " 

Upon  the  baron's  calling  on  him,  however,  he  had 
the  ingenuity  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  Mr.  Brown,  and 
had  the  honour  to  be  kicked  out  of  doors.  Upon  a 
repetition  of  the  challenge  Mr.  Brown  refused  to  fight, 
and  the  baron  met  him  one  day  in  the  street,  called 
him  a  coward  in  the  hearing  of  twenty,  and  pulled  Mr. 
Brown  by  the  nose ;  upon  which  Mr.  Brown  threw  his 
coat  and  waistcoat  into  an  orange  shop,  and  gave  the 
baron  a  very  handsome  thrashing.  Upon  demanding 
satisfaction  by  letter,  Mr.  Brown  told  him  "that  it 
seemed  no  easy  matter  to  satisfy  the  baron,  but  he 
would  do  his  best  to  thrash  him  better  the  first  time 
he  had  the  honour  to  meet  with  him  again ; "  which  oc- 
curred in  a  few  days,  and  the  baron  got  another  drub- 
bing, and,  having  kept  his  bed  for  a  fortnight,  felt  him- 
self perfectly  satisfied. 

Upon  some  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Brown  for  refus- 
ing a  challenge  as  the  act  of  a  coward,  he  said :  "  It  was 
a  bolder  thing  to  refuse  a  challenge  than  to  accept  one, 
for  it  was  fear  that  made  men  fight  duels." 

"  How  was  that  ? "  it  was  asked. 

Mr.  Brown  said,  "  To  do  a  wrong  thing  for  fear  of 
the  world's  opinion  was  the  act  of  a  coward." 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  the  jealous  baron  fixed 
upon  another  man,  an  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Decastro's, 
for  his  rival,  who,  unfortunately  for  Baron  Rump,  had 
not  quite  so  much  courage  as  Mr.  Brown,  for  he  turned 
out  at  a  moment's  warning,  and  shot  the  baron  through 
the  body.  Luckily  for  the  baron,  he  fell  into  skilful 
hands,  the  balls  were  extracted,  (for  the  baron,  being  a 
[>79] 


W$t  tyi&toty  of  9fit.  jflotm  Vbemtto 

man  not  very  easy  to  be  satisfied,  had  received  a  brace 
from  his  antagonist's  pistol,  so  he  had  no  cause  to  com- 
plain), and  he  soon  got  well  again ;  thinking  that  the 
balls,  which  had  missed  his  heart,  might  strike  the  fair 
Genevieve  in  that  tender  part,  and  too,  that  wit  and 
valour  united  might  carry  the  lady,  he  took  pen  and 
ink  and  wrote  her  a  flaming  epistle  upon  it ! — To  which 
Genevieve  made  the  following  reply. 

TO    BARON    RUMP,    &C. 

Sir:  I  am  this  morning  honoured  with  your  letter; 
and,  after  my  best  thanks  for  the  very  fine  things  therein 
contained,  beg  to  say,  that  it  is  a  little  unfortunate  that 
the  very  means  which  your  honour  takes  to  recommend 
yourself  to  me,  are  the  very  ones,  of  all  others,  to  set 
me  against  you.  You  set  out  with  two  challenges,  and 
a  duel,  which  are  charged  to  my  account.  I  am  sorry, 
sir,  you  have  such  an  opinion  of  my  sex  as  to  think 
that  such  things  as  these  take  any  countenance  from 
us.  I  could  as  soon  fall  in  love  with  a  man  for  getting 
kicked  as  shot  at,  and  deem  it  much  the  least  disgrace 
of  the  two,  more  especially  as  he  is  the  challenger ;  and 
am  quite  of  Mr.  Brown's  opinion,  which  is  much  talked 
of,  that  none  but  cowards  fight  duels,  whatever  you 
may  urge  to  the  contrary  in  your  sublime  epistle  not- 
withstanding. So,  sir,  you  see  what  ground  you  have 
gained  on  this  head.  After  having  flourished  away 
upon  your  courage,  you  next  advert  to  your  rank  and 
fortune ;  the  luck  seems  to  run  against  you,  sir,  a  title 
which  a  man  has  not  earned  with  his  own  hands  is  lit- 
tle else  than  calling  of  names ;  and  the  lives,  and  man- 
ners, of  many  who  wear  them  have  brought  a  title  into 
as  much  disgrace  as  if  it  had  been  given  to  the  common 
hangman !  As  to  your  fortune,  it  is  no  credit  for  a 
woman  to  marry  into  one,  she  had  much  better  be  poor 
and  honest  than  run  her  reputation  into  the  hazard  of 
marrying  a  rich  man  for  the  sake  of  his  money,  as  that 
[280] 


Cljf  fritftory  of  99r.  3|ot)n  EDecastro 

woman  must  do  who  marries  Baron  Rump.  You  next 
commend  your  fine  parts,  one  would  think  your  honour 
were  on  sale.  If  you  and  all  your  rare  matters  were 
put  up  at  auction,  however,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  any 
might  bid  for  such  lumber  for  me.  You  go  on  to  set 
forth,  (your  honour  is  certainly  on  sale,)  that  your 
temper  is  a  very  excellent  one,  I  will  not  cheapen  it 
because  I  know  little  of  it,  any  further  than  the  send- 
ing two  challenges  in  the  course  of  three  weeks  looks  a 
little  quarrelsome :  but  this  you  infer  was  to  show  your 
courage  to  your  mistress,  as  you  please  to  call  me,  and 
advance  your  suit  as  a  lover!  Depend  upon  it,  my 
noble  baron,  if  my  heart  was  in  my  own  hand,  you  and 
I  should  never  agree,  you  are  too  fond  of  yourself  for 
me,  or  any  other,  to  get  any  reasonable  share  in  your 
affections :  and  you  make  yourself  out  to  be  a  man  of 
such  extraordinary  parts,  virtues,  and  merit,  that  a 
woman  would  have  no  chance  for  shining  in  the  midst 
of  such  superior  splendour. — No,  my  noble  sir,  I  would 
never  consent  to  be  your  wife,  had  I  no  other  reasons 
than  those  just  stated  for  refusing  so  much  honour; 
but  I  again  beg  to  say,  that  my  affections  are  wholly 
engaged,  and  you  had  best  give  yourself  no  further 
trouble  upon  my  account. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  noble  sir, 

Your  very  humble  servant, 

Genevieve  de  Roma. 


[281] 


CHAPTER   XXII 

Genevieve's  Lovers  Continued. 

This  saucy  letter,  as  it  were  like,  put  Baron  Rump 
into  a  terrible  passion ;  and,  what  made  matters  worse, 
in  order  to  see  if  there  were  not  a  compliment  in  it,  he 
looked  the  word  "  lumber  "  out  in  an  English  dictionary. 
He  then  ran  to  his  mother,  for  he  put  all  his  secrets 
into  the  old  lady's  hand,  and  told  her,  that  his  mistress 
used  him  like  a  dog. 

"Dabby,"  said  the  old  lady,  the  baron's  name  was 
Aminadab,  "  you  are  much  to  blame  to  give  yourself 
any  further  trouble  about  Miss  De  Roma.  Be  advised 
by  me  and  quit  her  for  another ;  do  what  you  will  you 
can  get  nothing  but  scorn  for  your  pains:  a  woman 
cannot  look  for  a  better  proof  of  a  man's  affection  for 
her  than  to  venture  his  life,  as  you  have  done,  for  her 
sake.  I  took  you  to  have  a  better  spirit,  Dabby,  than 
to  put  up  with  so  much  contempt  from  any  woman." 

"  Spirit ! "  quoth  Baron  Rump,  "  why,  a  barrel  of 
water  with  one  drop  of  brandy  in  it,  would  have  more 
spirit  than  to  put  up  with  such  a  letter  as  this  is ! 
Look  at  the  meaning  and  signification  of  the  word 
Lumber  here  in  the  English  dictionary — 'cumbersome 
household  stuff  of  little  or  no  use ' — is  it  not  enough 
to  make  a  man  go  mad  ?  And  look  you  here  again,  the 
meaning  of  the  word  '  stuff '  is  '  furniture,  coarse  cloth, 
kitchen  stuff,  dripping,  mutton  or  beef  fat,'  look, 
mother,  '  common  grease : '  see  how  I  am  abused !  all 
[282] 


&l)t  history  of  ^r.  31olju  SDrrastro 

this  comes  of  my  being  a  fat  man,  for  'fat,'  you  see 
here,  in  another  part  of  this  dictionary,  means  'grease,' 
and  here  it  goes  on  to  say,  that  'fat  is  a  white  oily 
sulphureous  part  of  the  blood  '—and  that  is  as  much 
as  to  say  that  I  am  a  sulphureous  fellow ! — I  will  not 
bear  this — by  heavens  I'll  be  revenged! — You  see  what 
a  devil  of  a  word  this  'lumber '  is !  we  have  not  a  word 
in  our  language  that  carries  so  much  abuse  in  it !  " 

Upon  that  Baron  Rump  flung  down  the  dictionary, 
and  stamped  about  the  room  like  a  bedlamite. — After 
a  turn  or  two,  the  baron  said  now  his  hand  were  in  he 
were  determined  to  know  the  worst  of  it,  and  again 
taking  up  the  dictionary,  the  old  lady  caught  him  by 
the  arm  and  begged  of  him  to  let  the  English  diction- 
ary alone,  for  if  he  went  on  to  search  for  more  mean- 
ings she  did  not  know  what  might  be  the  consequence  ; 
and  as  for  Miss  De  Roma,  she  had  used  such  language 
as  to  bring  her  beneath  the  notice  of  any  gentleman. 
Upon  which  Baron  Rump  shut  up  the  dictionary,  and 
swore  a  great  oath  in  his  own  tongue,  that  he  would 
have  no  more  to  say  to  her,  and  he  kept  his  word. 

Genevieve  was  now  in  full  reputation  for  a  first-rate 
beauty,  and  her  person  had  found  its  way  into  the  sev- 
eral exhibitions,  sometimes  in  one  attitude,  and  some- 
times in  another;  sometimes  with,  and  sometimes 
without  shoes  and  stockings.  One  painter  took  the 
liberty  to  pull  off  a  great  many  of  her  clothes,  and,  in 
a  very  beautiful  picture,  had  the  face  to  show  more  of 
her  person  to  the  public  than  any  had  ever  seen  besides 
herself.  One  of  her  lovers  bought  the  picture,  however, 
and  had  the  modesty  to  conceal  his  mistress's  naked- 
ness from  the  eye  of  the  world.  The  painters  are  cer- 
tainly a  set  of  men  who  take  more  liberties  with  the 
[283] 


®i)t  $}t0torp  of  99r.  Jloljn  SDrcastro 

ladies'  shoes  and  stockings,  gowns  and  petticoats,  to  go 
no  further,  than  any  else.  Such  freedoms,  it  is  like, 
would  not  be  suffered,  if  the  ladies  were  not  willing  to 
take  fair  occasion  to  show  as  many  beauties  as  they 
can,  and  will  not  quarrel  with  the  painter  for  exposing 
any  thing  which  they  would  be  glad  to  show  themselves 
if  it  were  worth  seeing ;  but  clothes  are  come  so  much 
into  fashion,  since  Eve  began  with  her  fig-leaf,  a  little 
spot  has  spread  over  half  the  female  body,  that  a 
straight  leg,  if  it  were  not  for  the  painter,  would  no 
more  be  seen  than  a  crooked  one. 

To  return  to  Genevieve:  the  gay  world  had  never 
many  charms  for  her,  though  the  general  admiration 
she  met  withal  were  enough  to  have  won  the  heart  of 
many,  and,  it  may  be  said,  sensible  women;  for  why 
may  not  a  woman  be  pleased  in  pleasing  others  ?  But 
Genevieve  really  felt,  what  Mr.  Decastro  gave  his  wife 
credit  for,  to  answer  his  own  ends  with  her,  a  hearty 
contempt  of  the  pomps  and  vanities  of  the  world.  She 
had  long  been  used  to  hear  on  all  sides  when  she  came 
into  company,  "Here  she  is,"  "  That  is  she,'"  "Here  she 
comes,"  and  the  like  notes  of  admiration,  without  re- 
ceiving any  injury,  if  the  mortification  be  not  one  upon 
finding  that  a  celebrated  beauty  rarely  attracts  a  man 
of  good  sense.  Some  such  indeed  she  knew ;  but  found 
that  they  took  pains  to  avoid  her,  and  make  room  for 
beaux,  fools,  coxcombs,  petit-maitres,  and  other  the 
like  rubbish  of  human  nature.  With  an  halo  of  such 
matter  was  this  peerless  beauty  ever  encompassed,  at 
all  public  places  especially ;  and  we  omit,  for  the  sake 
of  brevity,  to  name  many  who  made  proposals,  were 
refused,  and  heard  no  more  of.  No  woman  ever  ad- 
mired more,  or  was  better  accomplished  for,  the  con- 
[284] 


Cfje  £?t0torg  of  Sl9t.  51otjn  ©ccastro 

versation  of  men  of  sense,  but  as  the  sun  draws  up  fogs 
out  of  the  mud,  even  so  the  radiance  of  Genevieve's 
beauty  attracted  a  cloud  of  tawdry  wretches  out  of  the 
scum  of  the  earth,  that  hung  about  her  like  mist  that 
blots  the  sun  out  of  heaven. 

She  grew  alarmed  at  the  reputation  she  was  like  to 
hazard  of  being  pleased  with  what  disgusted  others, 
and  having  a  bad  taste,  rolling,  like  a  pig,  amidst  the 
mire  of  mankind,  avoiding  the  conversation  of  men  of 
sense  and  worth ;  and  she  found  that  some  such  suspi- 
cion had  gone  forth.  She  and  her  aunt  dined  one  day 
at  Dr.  Masters's  house,  a  reverend  dean,  and  an  old 
friend  of  Mr.  Decastro's;  where  the  goddess  was  not 
so  much  in  her  temple  as  in  some  other  houses.  The 
good  dean  had  heard  a  great  deal  of  Genevieve  and  had 
a  wish  to  see  her,  so  he  invited  her  and  Mrs.  Decastro 
one  day  to  dine  with  him  at  the  deanery.  She  and  her 
aunt,  and  a  maiden  sister  of  the  dean's,  were  the  only 
ladies  who  made  their  appearance  at  this  reverend 
gentleman's  table.  His  wife  was  laid  down  with  the 
gout.  A  world  of  doctors  with  great  wigs  on  their 
heads  were  there,  and,  among  others,  a  handsome  young 
clergyman,  named  Smith,  much  admired  on  the  score 
of  his  virtues  and  learning.  Genevieve  and  her  aunt 
made  their  entree,  and  casting  their  eyes  around  them, 
felt  their  blood  run  cold  at  the  sight  of  so  many  great 
wigs  on  all  hands.  What  all  this  hair  has  to  do  with 
religion  is  a  matter  of  wonder,  especially  false  hair, 
which  must  needs  belong  to  the  devil  as  all  false  things 
do.  Genevieve  fixed  her  bright  eyes  on  this  handsome 
young  clergyman,  who  had  not  as  yet  run  his  head  into 
a  great  wig,  however  a  great  wig  might  run  in  his  head. 
She  saw  him  stare  at  her,  but  presently  to  take  his 
[285  J 


Wfyt  ^istotf  of  a^r.  31otm  SDecastro 

eyes  off,  and,  though  he  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  sit- 
ting next  her,  and  she  gave  him  one  of  her  sweet  glances 
to  coax  him  to  her  side,  she  had  the  mortification  to 
see  him  file  off,  and  take  a  chair  close  by  the  old  maid 
on  the  other  side  of  the  table.  She  felt  this  very  sen- 
sibly, but  took  no  notice.  Mr.  Smith  was  related  to 
the  dean,  and  he  had  introduced  him  to  her. 

At  this  reverend  table,  Genevieve  seemed  to  be  un- 
usually alone,  and  actually  sat  silent  for  want  of  one  to 
converse  with  her,  after  a  little  talk,  and  a  glass  of 
wine,  with  the  good  old  dean.  On  each  side  of  her  sat 
two  great  wigs,  full  of  powder  and  very  terrible ;  and 
Genevieve  looked  at  one,  and  then  at  the  other,  and 
was  sure  there  must  be  a  great  deal  in  them  if  she 
knew  how  to  get  it  out.  The  talk,  as  far  as  she  could 
hear,  ran  upon  very  grave  matters,  which  the  Reverend 
Doctor  Blow,  who  sat  on  her  left,  kept  pretty  much  in 
his  own  hands,  conversing  directly  across  her  nose 
with  the  Reverend  Doctor  Boarcole,  who  sat  on  her 
right.  Now  Doctor  Boarcole  was  a  little  hard  of  hear- 
ing, and  Doctor  Blow  was  fain  to  lean  toward  him 
when  he  spoke,  who,  out  of  politeness,  met  him  half 
way,  which  inclination  on  both  parts  brought  their 
great  wigs  over  Genevieve's  face  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  cast  her  under  a  total  eclipse  of  hair,  during  a  great 
part  of  the  time  she  sat  at  the  table ;  for  Doctor  Blow 
and  Doctor  Boarcole  presently  fell  into  an  argument 
upon  the  divine  right  of  tithes,  which  waxed  so  warm 
that  the  two  doctors,  during  the  heat  thereof,  fre- 
quently gave  Genevieve  a  brush  on  either  cheek  with 
the  eaves  of  their  wigs:  which,  mixing  their  white 
powder  with  her  jetty  locks  on  both  sides,  might  in- 
duce a  belief  on  one  who  knew  nothing  of  the  matter, 
[286] 


TOe  tytetoti?  of  $0t.  31oljn  EDccastro 

that  Genevieve  had  got  kissed  by  both  the  doctors  at 
once  to  keep  her  face  steady.  For  the  ladies  have  a 
trick  of  turning  their  faces  away  when  they  are  kissed, 
a  thing  very  well  known  to  all  doctors  in  divinity,  who 
may  wear  great  wigs  to  hide  the  ladies'  blushes,  else 
what  use  can  they  be  of  ?  Now  if  Doctor  Blow  had 
fixed  his  lips  on  one  cheek,  and  Doctor  Boarcole  on 
the  other,  their  wigs  would  have  met  over  Genevieve's 
nose!  No  such  fun  for  Genevieve,  however;  who, 
during  the  argument,  came  in  for  a  very  small  share  of 
attention. 

It  has  been  said,  when  there  is  a  contest  between 
two,  nobody  can  long  stand  neuter,  that  is,  without  sid- 
ing with  one  or  the  other  of  the  combatants.  Doctor 
Blow  had  cast  his  eyes  twice  on  Genevieve,  and  Doctor 
Boarcole  four  times  during  the  discussion,  whereupon 
Doctor  Boarcole  was  Genevieve's  man,  and  she  felt 
pleased  whenever  he  gave  Doctor  Blow  a  shrewd  turn. 
Whether  her  smiles  of  applause  upon  Doctor  Boarcole 
invigorated  the  doctor's  wit  and  genius,  or  the  loss  of 
them  discouraged  Doctor  Blow,  Doctor  Boarcole  cer- 
tainly overturned  Doctor  Blow,  who,  converting  his  at- 
tention to  a  slice  of  plum-pudding  and  Madeira  sauce, 
put  such  a  great  bit  into  his  mouth  at  once  as  might 
very  well  make  it  a  doubt  whether  it  had  been  stopped 
by  argument  or  by  pudding. 

The  Solid  Gentleman  takcth  the  quill  from  out  of 
Old  Comical 's  zvig,  where  he  had  stuck  it,  and  fallen 
asleep. 

The  story  which  follows  is  a  very  sad  one,  and  sets 

the  fatal  effects  of  female  beauty  in  so  strong  a  light 

as  to  make  it  a  question  whether  it  might  not  be  better 

for  the  world  if  the  fair  sex  came  out  at  the  hands  of 

[287] 


Wqt  S?i0tor£  of  spr.  31ol)n  H>rcastto 

nature  without  any  such  dangerous  embellishment. 
Or,  if  the  women  must  needs  come  with  so  much  orna- 
ment into  the  world,  if  beauty  were  put  into  safer  hands 
than  it  too  often  is,  and  not  to  be  given  to  such  as  are 
glad  to  do  all  the  mischief  they  can  with  it.  We  do 
not  mean,  however,  to  insinuate,  by  this  little  preface 
to  our  story,  that  Genevieve  ever  committed  any  wilful 
murders  with  this  terrible  weapon  or  abused  the  power 
which  nature  gave  her ;  by  no  means. 

So  little  pains,  indeed,  did  she  take  to  make  a  con- 
quest of  poor  Mr.  Smith,  that  she  had  not  a  guess  that 
any  harm  were  done  until  he  wrote  to  her.  When  the 
gentlemen  who  dined  that  day  at  the  deanery  came 
into  the  drawing-room,  Genevieve  still  saw  Mr.  Smith 
avoided  her,  which  made  her  a  little  anxious  to  engage 
him  in  conversation.  She  took  an  opportunity,  in 
making  way  for  a  servant,  to  edge  her  chair  up  close 
to  him.  Poor  Mr.  Smith  could  not  make  his  escape, 
for  Mrs.  Deborah  Masters  sat  on  the  other  side  of  him, 
with  whom  he  was  talking.  Genevieve  listened  a  little 
to  their  conversation  and  soon  found  room  to  put  in  a 
word,  for  she  was  a  ready  speaker,  and,  by  degrees, 
drew  Mr.  Smith  entirely  to  herself;  but  we  must 
abridge  this  story,  or  it  will  run  us  too  far:  Be  it 
known  then  that  Genevieve  made  a  conquest  of  Mr. 
Smith,  who  not  only  paid  his  addresses  to  a  lady  whom 
Genevieve  knew,  but  matters  had  gone  so  far  that  the 
clay  was  fixed  for  the  marriage.  Genevieve  herself  did 
not  come  off  without  a  wound  on  her  side,  and  she 
went  so  far  as  to  say  that  if  her  affections  had  not  been 
deeply  engaged,  she  could  have  been  glad  to  have 
chosen  Mr.  Smith  for  her  husband ;  but  she  loved  an- 
other too  well  to  suffer  much  on  her  part.  In  the 
[288] 


1&\\t  ftttftor?  of  fl9r.  3f]otjit  ©etastto 

course  of  a  few  days  after  she  dined  at  Doctor  Masters's 
house,  she  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Smith,  full  of 
wildness  and  extravagancies,  and  another  from  Miss 
May  to  whom  he  was  engaged ;  the  first  we  shall  sup- 
press out  of  tenderness  to  Mr  Smith,  the  last  we  shall 
give  the  reader. 

THE    LETTER    WRITTEN    BY    MISS    MAY    TO    GENEVIEVE. 

My  Dear  Miss  De  Roma:  I  should  not  deserve 
the  kind  attention  of  so  excellent  a  young  man  as  Mr. 
Smith,  if  I  had  not  a  heart  to  pity  him  in  his  present 
situation.  Before  Mr.  Smith  saw  you,  my  dear  madam, 
Mr.  Smith  was  mine,  but  he  now  is  yours,  your  superior 
charms  and  merits  have  taken  him  from  me,  and  that 
upon  the  eve  of  our  nuptials.  Knowing  Mr.  Smith  as 
you  do,  I  need  not  tell  you  how  much  regard  I  have 
for  him ;  too  much  to  see  him  in  such  a  sad  distracted 
state  on  my  account ;  if  I  do  not  see  him  happy  I  shall 
never  be  so  myself — I  have  told  him  this,  and  given 
up  all  my  claims  to  him :  you  must  add,  that  he  has 
my  leave  to  address  you :  I  could  not  do  so,  lest  this 
little  act  of  generosity,  as  some  may  think  it,  might 
overcome  him.  I  speak  as  if  I  knew  you  loved  him  as 
well  as  I  do — it  is  impossible,  if  you  have  any  feelings 
of  a  woman  in  you,  but  you  must  love  him : — think  not 
too  highly  of  me  for  what  I  have  done,  it  is  done  for 
my  own  sake,  for  I  could  never  live  long  and  see  Mr. 
Smith  miserable :  tell  him  this,  and  add,  that  if  he  has 
any  wish  to  prolong  my  life  he  must  let  me  see  him 
happy. 

I  remain,  my  dear  madam, 

Yours,  &c, 

Louisa  May. 

As  soon  as  Genevieve  had  read  this  letter,  she  wept 
like  a  child ;  getting  a  little  composed,  she  asked  her 
aunt  for  her  carriage,  and  paid  Miss  May  a  visit.     Miss 
19  [289] 


Wtyt  J?i0tor£  of  $0t.  violin  SDecastro 


May  received  her  with  great  kindness,  which  threw 
poor  Genevieve  into  a  sad  fit  of  grief,  and  it  was  some 
time  before  she  could  get  power  to  say  a  word.  She 
began  by  telling  her  that  she  had  no  heart  to  lose,  for 
it  was  already  another's,  or  Mr.  Smith  was  quite  the 
kind  of  person  to  make  the  deepest  impression  upon 
her  mind,  so  that  she  could  take  no  merit  in  declaring 
that  she  would  never  see  Mr.  Smith  again,  begged  by 
all  means  that  their  marriage  might  take  place,  and 
asked  Miss  May  to  give  her  leave  to  enclose  her  letter 
to  Mr.  Smith,  for,  she  said,  if  any  charm  on  earth  could 
call  her  lover  back  to  her  that  letter  must  do  it.  After 
much  entreaty  it  was  allowed ;  when  Genevieve  wrote 
the  following  note  to  Mr.  Smith,  and  enclosed  Miss 
May's  letter. 

TO    THE    REV.    THOMAS    SMITH. 

Sir:  I  received  your  letter,  which  has  given  me 
much  vexation :  I  have  robbed  a  young  woman  of  your 
heart,  who  well  deserves  even  such  a  heart  as  yours, 
and  could  tear  my  unlucky  face  to  pieces  for  having 
done  so  much  mischief.  If  you  knew  me,  sir,  as  well 
as  you  know  Miss  May,  there  could  be  but  little  harm 
done ;  my  temper  is  not  a  good  one,  I  am  violent  and 
fond  of  rule — you  would  be  terrified  if  you  knew  what 
a  bosom  I  have — what  furious  passions  inhabit  it ;  if 
you  gave  up  your  sweet  Louisa,  you  would  go  distracted 
as  soon  as  you  found  what  an  exchange  you  had  made. 
For  heaven's  sake,  sir,  think  not  on  me:  what  you 
now  feel  is  the  least  of  the  matter ;  if  you  felt  ten  times 
as  much,  it  would  be  a  paradise  compared  to  what  you 
would  feel  if  you  had  me:  sooner  than  marry  you,  I 
would  hang  myself  out  of  charity  to  you.  I  wish  in 
my  heart  I  had  never  seen  you:  marry  your  sweet 
Louisa,  and  it  will  be  no  little  addition  to  your  happi- 
ness to  talk  over  your  escape  together :  as  to  your  letter 
[290] 


1E\)c  tototr  of  9&t.  3lotm  SDccastro 


it  is  full  of  downright  falsities,  everything  you  say  of 
me  is  untrue ;  you  are  cheated,  sir,  by  my  cursed  glar- 
ing outside — my  beauty  is  my  greatest  misfortune.  I 
could  have  been  glad  of  you  as  a  friend,  and  of  your 
charming  Louisa  as  an  example  to  copy  after;  my 
beauty  has  deprived  me  of  both,  many  thanks  to  it. 
Take  notice,  sir, — my  affections  are  engaged;  it  may 
be  of  some  use  to  tell  you  this;  just  such  another 
young  man  as  yourself  has  my  whole  heart,  who,  I  am 
sure,  has  too  much  good  sense  ever  to  give  such  a 
termagant  as  I  am  any  encouragement ;  but  I  will  tear 
myself  out  of  myself,  but  I  will  try  everything  to  en- 
gage him  !  Read  the  enclosed  letter,  and  if  you  do  not 
fold  your  sweet  Louisa  to  your  heart,  I  wish  you  may 
marry  such  another  as  myself. 

I  am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

Genevieve  De  Roma. 

Poor  Mr.  Smith,  soon  after  the  receipt  of  this  note, 
married  Miss  May,  but  died  of  a  broken  heart  in  the 
second  year  after  his  marriage,  and  his  sad  Louisa  soon 
followed  him  to  his  tomb,  leaving  an  infant  daughter  to 
the  care  of  their  disconsolate  parents. 

Amongst  others  that  paid  their  addresses  to  Gene- 
vieve, her  cousin  Frederick  was  one,  and.  if  she  detested 
one  man  more  than  another,  Frederick  was  he.  This 
offer  took  place  before  he  returned  to  Oxford  the  last 
time :  we  must  give  some  particulars  of  it  in  this  place. 
Frederick's  attachment  to  Genevieve  was  no  sudden 
thing.  He  fell  in  love  with  her  while  he  was  a  school- 
boy, and  had  often  told  her  so,  and  she  him  in  return,  that 
there  was  no  offensive  reptile  that  crawled  on  the  face  of 
the  earth  that  she  felt  so  much  disgust  at  the  sight  of. 

Genevieve  usually  took  up  her  abode  at  the  castle, 
and  this  by  the  advice  of  Old  Crab,  who  said,  he  did 
no  see  what  such  a  woman,  as  she  were  like  to  be,  had 
[291] 


Ctje  tyittoty  of  09r.  3Joljn  E>ecastro 

to  do  in  a  farm-house.  During  the  holidays  and  vaca- 
tions, however,  when  Frederick  was  at  home,  she  al- 
ways went  there  to  get  out  of  Frederick's  way,  and  told 
her  guardian,  Old  Crab,  her  reason  for  coming;  who 
said,  Frederick  was  a  good-for-nothing  young  dog,  and 
it  was  his  duty  as  her  guardian  to  keep  her  at  a  dis- 
tance. Finding  Frederick  one  day  in  his  house,  he 
laid  his  stick  upon  his  bones,  and  asked  him  how  often 
he  was  to  forbid  him  coming  there?  Acerbus,  the 
philosopher,  was  Old  Crab's  favourite ;  as  to  Frederick, 
he  always  said  he  would  come  to  the  gallows,  and  the 
sooner  he  were  hanged  the  better.  Whatever  faults 
Frederick  might  have,  he  was  always  constant  in  his 
attachment  to  Genevieve.  By  "constant,"  we  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  he  forsook  the  rest  of  the  sex  for  her 
sake,  for  he  was  extremely  vicious,  and,  amongst  other 
the  like  exploits,  seduced  one  of  Old  Crab's  maid  ser- 
vants, if  seduced  be  not  too  light  an  expression,  for  the 
poor  girl  received  so  much  injury  from  him  that  she 
died  in  consequence  of  it.  This  it  was,  amongst  other 
inferior  merits,  that  brought  Old  Crab's  oaken  towel 
and  Frederick's  bones  together,  as  aforesaid,  when  he 
found  him  where  he  had  forbidden  him  ever  to  come; 
for,  after  the  affair  just  mentioned,  Old  Crab  told  him 
what  he  had  to  expect  if  he  ever  found  him  again  in, 
or  near,  his  premises. 

We  truly  think  that  it  would  be  doing  Frederick 
much  injustice  to  say,  that  he  was  not  attached  to 
Genevieve's  person.  Her  money,  however,  had  no  lit- 
tle weight  with  him ;  and  then,  more  especially,  when 
his  father  stopt  his  allowance  at  the  university;  after 
which,  with  much  difficulty,  he  got  an  interview  with 
her  by  concealing  himself  in  a  ditch,  and  leaping  upon 
[292] 


QL\)e  Distort  of  9?r.  3flol)n  SDrcastro 

her,  as  she  passed,  like  a  tiger.  What  took  place  at 
this  interview  left  an  ulcer  on  Frederick's  heart  that 
rankled  in  it  to  the  day  of  his  death.  He  began  by 
renewing  his  addresses  to  her  in  the  most  earnest 
manner.  She  told  him  that  she  would  marry  the  com- 
mon hangman  sooner  than  she  would  him,  and  other 
the  like  scornful  and  provoking  taunts.  Frederick, 
finding  all  entreaties  vain,  vowed  revenge  on  the  spot. 
It  was  a  lonely  place  where  they  met,  close  by  a  wood. 
He  seized  Genevieve  round  her  waist,  who,  not  expect- 
ing such  an  attack,  was  thrown  to  the  ground ;  she  was 
not  likely  long  to  lie  there,  however,  nor  had  fallen, 
but  for  a  bush  that  got  between  her  legs — she  soon 
disengaged  herself  at  the  expense  of  some  of  her  clothes 
which  were  torn  off  her  back,  leaped  from  the  ground, 
seized  Frederick,  who  made  a  second  attempt  on  her 
person,  and  flung  him  by  main  force  into  a  muddy 
ditch,  where  he  had  certainly  got  suffocated  if  she  had 
not  pulled  him  out  by  one  of  his  legs. 

Frederick  had  now  got  enough  of  it,  and  sneaked 
home  as  black  as  if  he  had  been  dipt  over  head  and 
ears  in  an  ink-bottle.  Old  Crab  met  him  on  his  way, 
and  asked  him  how  he  came  to  be  in  such  a  pickle  ? 
but  he  hurried  off  without  speaking  one  word,  and  so 
did  Old  Crab,  for  Frederick  stunk  of  mud  a  man  might 
have  smelled  him  a  mile.  Getting  over  a  gate  into  an- 
other enclosure,  he  saw  Genevieve  coming  with  the 
remains  of  her  gown  and  a  petticoat  in  her  hand,  her 
stockings  torn  and  legs  bleeding,  and  her  bosom  bare. 

"Why,  Jenny,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "what  the  devil  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

Upon  which    she   told  her   guardian  the   shocking 
attempt  which  Frederick  had  made  on  her  person. 
[293] 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

Some  Account  of  Lord  Budemere's  Matters — On  what  foot 
Old  Comical  was  received  at  the  Castle — Mr.  Decastro's 
Pride. 

No, — no  love  in  this  chapter,  there  was  enough  of 
that  in  the  last.  There  will  be  a  great  deal  presently, 
if  the  reader  will  have  a  little  patience ;  but  the  ladies 
are  so  fond  of  sweet  things  that  they  can  scarce  keep 
their  fingers  out  of  a  sugar  dish !  Now,  it  were  a  mat- 
ter worth  forty  shillings,  to  tell  them  that  a  sweet  thing 
coming  now  and  then,  comes  all  the  sweeter  for  coming 
seldom.  No  lady  or  gentleman,  whatever  some  may 
think,  was  ever  made  on  purpose  to  live  in  a  honey-pot. 
It  is  temperance  that  gives  folks  pleasure ;  run  into  ex- 
cess and  there's  an  end  of  it  at  once.  Yes,  sweet  la- 
dies, sweet  lovers  of  the  sweetest  things,  you  miss  the 
matter  even  in  love  itself  by  taking  too  much  of  it.  If 
you  could  swallow  a  gallon  of  honey,  a  twentieth  part 
is  better  than  the  whole :  a  kiss  and  away  is  better  than 
all  day ;  sweet  is  the  lover's  lip  if  rarely  touched ;  too 
much  is  worse  than  grutch ;  it  is  the  frugal  use  of  pleas- 
ure that  gives  us  pleasure.  But  who  can  comb  all  the 
errors  out  of  people's  heads  ?  and  what  are  errors  but 
the  vermin  of  the  brains  ? 

Now  if  Old  Crab  had  combed  Lord  Budemere's  head 

with  a  three-legged  stool,  and  combed  out  brains  and 

all,  pouring  milk,  eggs  and  sugar  in  the  place  of  them 

to  serve  for  understanding,  it  would  have  altered  his 

[294] 


1&\)t  piston?  of  90t,  3loljn  SDrrastro 

lordship's  intellects  a  world  for  the  better,  and  his  soul 
would  have  sat  much  more  at  her  ease  in  the  middle  of 
a  custard !  As  it  was,  the  seat  of  his  soul  was  the  stool 
of  repentance.  What  a  confusion  in  his  house !  What 
a  hunts'-up !  no  man  knew  who  was  cook  and  who  was 
butler !  Old  Crab,  as  hath  been  said,  took  the  chaos  in 
hand  to  reduce  things  to  order:  there  was  a  good  ten 
years'  work! 

"  What  the  devil  have  you  been  at,"  quoth  Old  Crab, 
"  what  in  the  devil's  name  have  you  been  at  ?  You  must 
get  into  lodgings,  you  blockhead,  and  there  lie,  you 
and  your  wife  together,  until  I  can  disembroil  matters 
for  you :  "  and  it  took  Old  Crab  a  world  of  pains,  time, 
and  labour  to  put  his  house  to  rights,  aye,  ten  times  the 
labour  his  brother  John's  cost  him — so  Mrs.  Decastro 
occupied  that  in  town,  and  the  jackdaws  that  in  the  coun- 
try, though  they  did  not  pay  quite  so  much  rent  for  it. 

Caesar,  when  he  speaketh  of  himself  in  his  Commen- 
taries, most  nobly  putteth  himself  into  the  third  person 
singular.  Why  may  not  Old  Comical  do  the  like  after 
so  great  an  example,  and  put  himself  in  like  number  and 
person  in  Old  Comical's  Commentaries  ? — Mr.  Decas- 
tro, heaven  bless  him !  put  Old  Comical  upon  the  foot 
of  honour,  always  invited  him  to  dine  at  his  sumptuous 
table  at  the  castle  amongst  the  great  folks,  where  he 
cracked  his  jokes,  filled  his  belly,  and  talked  to  the  lords 
and  ladies.  'Squire  Grove,  as  worthy  a  gentleman  as 
ever  walked  between  sized  felt  and  neat's  leather,  al- 
ways did  the  same. 

"Ah  Beauty,"  quoth  Old  Comical  one  day  to  Gene- 
vieve, for  so  he  always  called  her  Radiance,  "  who  is 
to  come  in  at  last  for  all  that's  between  your  cap  and 
pattens  ? " 

[295] 


1&\)e  history  of  $&t.  3|oljn  SDetastro 

"  Why,  John,"  said  she,  "  what's  between  my  cap  and 
pattens  is  the  least  of  the  matter,  if  the  men  could  get 
hold  of  my  money,  the  sooner  I  were  thrown,  cap  and 
pattens,  into  the  next  ditch,  the  better,  it  is  what  they 
are  all  after ;  how  is  such  a  rich  gipsy  as  I  am  to  know 
who  is  sincere?  and  who  will  offer,  after  all,  that  is 
worth  having,  while  all  this  money  lies  in  my  lap  ? " 

"  Ah,  Beauty,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  as  "  music  is  the 
caper-sauce  to  a  country-dance,  so  it  is  the  chiming  of 
the  guineas  in  a  woman's  apron  that  sets  the  men  a 
prancing  about  her — who  would  look  at  an  angel,  if  one 
of  the  seraphim  came  down  from  heaven  with  empty 
pockets  ? — A  woman  cannot  get  on  in  the  water  with- 
out money,  she  had  as  good  be  a  fish  without  any  fins 
in  it,  Beauty." 

"I  hate  the  men,"  said  Genevieve;  "they  only  court 
me  because  they  want  to  put  their  hands  into  my  pock- 
et; hanging  will  never  keep  them  honest  as  long  as 
there  is  a  man  left  to  come  to  the  gallows ! " 

"O  fie!  Beauty,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "hang  your 
great  bag  upon  the  devil's  horn,  and  if  I  will  not  marry 
you  to-morrow  kiss  me  till  I  pinch  you ! " 

"  O  I  hate  warts,  and  your  face  is  full  of  gooseber- 
ries; you  shall  hear  further,"  said  she,  "if  I  set  my 
heart  upon  a  cock  turkey,  and  want  a  husband  with  a 
red  face,  that  can  spread  his  tail  and  strut." 

"  Beauty  !  "  quoth  he. 

"  What  now,  Old  Comical  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Ha-ha !  "  quoth  he,  "how  came  you  to  think  I  spoke 
to  you  ? " 

"Why,  you  comical  old  toad,  you  always  call  me  so," 
said  she. 

"Well,  I  say,  Beauty, — pull  that  bottle  of  Madeira 
[  296  ] 


®\)t  tyittori?  of  S!5r.  3]otm  aixxastro 

this  way  (they  were  at  dinner  at  the  castle)  and,  come, 
let  us  have  a  touch  at  it  together,  and  then,  if  you  tum- 
ble under  the  table  you  can't  blame  me  if  1  tumble 
after  you ;  and  let  what  will  happen  the  fault  will  be  all 
in  the  wine — but  here  it  breaks  again — it  cannot  be  bad 
wine  that  brings  good  folks  together,  so  come,  Beauty, 
let's  have  t'other  touch  at  it,  and  then  I'll  sing  you  one 
of  my  best  ballads." 

"  None  but  an  ass  can  have  an  ear  for  your  music," 
said  she. 

"  None  but  an  Orpheus  can  attract  the  beasts," 
quoth  Old  Comical. 

At  table  were  the  Earl  and  Countess  of  Budemere, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove,  Lord  Thomas  and  his  cousin  Mr. 
L.,  Lady  Charlotte  Orby,  Acerbus  the  Philosopher,  Old 
Crab,  Mrs.  B.  Decastro,  George  Grove,  and  Julia  the 
pretty  milk-maid.  Hearing  Old  Comical  quaver,  Lord 
Thomas  called  for  a  song,  whereupon  Old  Comical 
mounted  a  chair,  for  he  had  left  his  three-legged  stool 
at  the   farm,  and    sung  "  My   Lady  Cannee,"  *  as   it 

*OLD  COMICALS  BALLAD. 

"  MY    LADY   CAN    VK  ?  " 

Old  Comical  takes  up  a  large  Pair  of  Bellows. 

I. 
Poor  Lady  Bounce,  my  grandmother  ! 

Ah  she  was  troubled  so  in 
Her  maw  with  wind,  that  waters  strong 

She  scarce  knew  what  to  throw  in. 

CHORUS. 

My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye? 

[297] 


tEtje  J?tstor£  of  $)r.  3f|olm  Deotftro 

stands  in  the  margin;  and  was  made  to  sing  it  three 
times  over.  As  soon  as  the  laughing  was  done, 
for  much  laughter  followed  the  ballad,  "Brother 
John,"  quoth   Old  Crab,   "you  have  got  a  house  in 

O  my  lady  !  ah  my  lady  ! 
Now  my  lady  can  ye? 
[Old  Comical  puffs  hard  with  the  bellows  after  every 
"Can  ye."] 

II. 

Deuce  take  the  wind  !  quoth  Lady  Bounce, 

Bring  me  a  glass  of  water, 
Hot-spic'd  with  noble  cinnamon, 
And  clove  to  make  it  hotter. 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 

III. 
While  blasts  of  air  in  pockets  shut 

Within  my  bowels  so  rage, 
Hot  bricks  and  plates,  quoth  Lady  Bounce, 
And  tiles,  are  chips  in  porrage  ! 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 

IV. 
Bring  me  a  glass  of  stiff  Old  Tom, 

"Tis  a  choice  wind  exploder. 
Makes  colick'd  stomachs  snap  and  crack 
As  if  charg'd  with  gun-powder  ! 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My   lady  can  ye?  &c. 

V. 
Bring  me  a  gill  of  scorched  port- 
Wine  all  on  fire  with  spices, 
Who  would  not  for  her  ease  get  drunk, 
A  lady  over  nice  is  ! 

My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 
[298] 


tEtjc  History  of  spr.  3|otm  EDccastro 

London  again,  folks  say,  what  the  devil  is  the  matter 
now  ?  " 

"  Matter !  brother  Bat,  there's  nothing  the  matter,  it 
is  Lord  Budemere's  house ;  I  have  hired  it  for  my  wife, 

VI. 
Now  bring  me  pepper'd  gingerbread 

All  burning  like  the  devil, 
'Tis  good  for  rumbling  grumbling  winds, 
That  work  the  guts  such  evil ! 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 
,      VII. 
Marsh-mallows,  bark,  and  chamomile, 

Bring  orange  skins  and  nitre, 
Bring  carroway,  and  cinnabar 
Of  old  a  stought  wind  fighter. 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 
VIII. 
Bring  me  a  pint  of  anniseed, 
And  now  a  pint  of  brandy, 
Fire  them  and  pour  them  flaming  in, 
Or  I  shall  lay  down  and  die ! 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye?  &c. 
IX. 
Bravo  !  at  that,  quoth  Lady  Bounce, 

The  wind  that  made  me  rave  oh  ! 
Begins  to  move  ! — it  breaks  !  there  !  there  ! 
[N.  B.    The  old  lady  breaketh  the  wind  in  this  place.} 
Ah  bravo  !  bravo  !  bravo  ! 
My  lady  can  ye? 
My  lady  can  ye? 
Ah  my  lady  !  oh  my  lady  ! 
Now  my  lady  can  ye. 
[Old  Comical  maketh  frequent  use  of  the  bellows  during 
this  last  staff.} 

C299] 


&\)t  history  of  3pr.  31oljn  H>ecastro 

why  should  I  beg  or  borrow  when  I  can  pay  for  the  use 
of  a  thing  ?  But  I  go  no  more  to  London,  if  you  mean 
so,  brother  Bat." 

"No,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "but  your  pride  does,  and 
that  is  a  pity ;  why  can't  Madam  Crincum  Crankum  be 
content  in  a  lodging  ?  or  at  Master  Grove's  house  where 
she  used  to  be  ?  I  have  let  the  house  for  ten  years, 
she  must  turn  out." 

"  Let  the  house  for  ten  years,  brother  Bat !  " 
"  Let  the  house  for  ten  years,  brother  Bat,"  quoth 
Old  Crab,  singing  in  his  nose,  "yes, — and  your  old  hen 
sha'nt  roost  there,  you  may  take  my  word  for  it.  I 
don't  see  what  the  plague  she  has  to  do  in  London  at 
all,  feeding  the  common  abscess  of  the  land  with  her 
bad  humours:  the  gathering  is  rank  enough  already, 
what  need  she  add  to  the  imposthume?* — She  must 
turn  out,  brother  John,  I  have  let  the  house  at  a  good 
rent  for  ten  years,  I  tell  ye,  she  must  turn  out — she 
has  played  the  devil  with  the  furniture  already,  with 
her  confounded  routs,  there  was  scarce  a  chair  that  had 
not  its  bones  broken  by  her  last  gang ;  what  the  plague 
she  has  to  do  to  invite  so  many  waggon  loads  of  people 
at  once,  I  can't  think — she  must  turn  out,  I  tell  ye." 

*01d  Crab's  comparison  may  have  been  suggested  by  Wil- 
liam Cobbett's  sobriquet  for  London  "the  Great  Wen."  To 
all  sudden  aggregations  of  dwellings,  to  a  city  or  town,  Cob- 
bett  applied  the  term  "wen."  London  was  therefore  the 
Great  Wen.  "Have  I  not  for  twenty  years,"  he  asks,  "been 
regretting  the  existence  of  these  unnatural  embossments ; 
these  white-swellings,  these  odious  wens,  produced  by  Cor- 
ruption and  engendering  crime  and  misery  and  slavery? 
But  what  is  to  be  the  fate  of  the  Great  Wen  of  all, — the  mon- 
ster called  by  the  silly  coxcombs  of  the  press,  '  the  metropolis  of 
the  empire  '?  "    [Rural  Rides,  Dec.  4,  1821.) — Editor's  Note. 

[  300  ] 


XE\)t  ftteton?  of  $®t.  3f|otin  HDecastro 

"  Well,  well,  brother  Bat,  if  the  house  is  let  at  a  good 
rent  for  ten  years  that's  another  matter,"  said  Mr. 
Decastro,  "  and  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  I  will  not 
stand  in  the  way  of  a  better  tenant." 

"  Let  for  ten  years  !  "  said  Lord  Budemere,  "  I  was 
in  great  hopes,  sir,  you  could  have  made  up  my  matters 
before  that  time." 

"  Made  up  your  matters  !  "  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  'tis  no 
such  easy  work — you  set  your  estate  on  fire  in  fifty 
places,  and  expect  me  to  stop  the  conflagration  in  a 
moment,  I  warrant;  it  were  a  fool's  question  to  ask 
how  such  a  man  can  be  such  a  fool !  You  will  never 
be  the  man  you  were,  you  must  not  expect  that,  you 
can't  have  your  candle  and  burn  your  candle;  the 
Parsmore  estates  and  Rabbins  farms  are  gone  for  ever ; 
ten  thousand  a-year  bled  to  death  at  that  gash." 

"  I  expect  cold  news  from  that  quarter,"  said  Lord 
Budemere ;  "  but,  sir,  you  have  not  said  what  you  can 
allow  me  to  live  upon  while  matters  are  a-mending  ? " 

"Six  thousand  pounds  a-year,"  quoth  Old  Crab; 
"  there  are  only  you  and  your  wife  and  your  daughter, 
six  thousand  a-year  will  find  you  in  bread  and  cheese,  I 
warrant,  with  only  three  heads  in  the  cupboard." 

Lord  Budemere  raised  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  and 
said  he  should  be  starved  to  death ! 

At  that  moment  Old  Comical  burst  into  a  loud  laugh 
—just  then  a  little  ill-timed — Lord  Budemere  asked 
him  what  he  laughed  at  ?  Old  Comical  humbly  begged 
his  lordship's  pardon,  and  said  he  could  not  help  it — 
while  Old  Crab's  simile  ran  in  his  head,  who  had  com- 
pared London  to  a  great  scab  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth  (Old  Comical  usually  had  a  side  slit  to  crawl  out 
at) — "And  there    it    is  like  to  stick  until   the   devil 

[301] 


1&\)t  piston?  of  5pr.  3lotm  2Decastro 

scratches  it  off,"  quoth  Old  Comical;  "he  will  carry  it 
home  in  his  nail,  some  day." 

"  Aye,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  'tis  a  sign  of  foul  blood 
in  the  land  when  it  breaks  out  into  such  blotches." 

"When  it  throws  the  humours  out,"  quoth  Old 
Comical,  "  'tis  a  sign  of  the  strength  of  the  constitu- 
tion." 

"Better  in  than  out,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "as  far  as 
contagion  goes,  for  vice  is  worse  than  the  plague ;  the 
plague  indeed  may  send  now  and  then  a  soul  to  heaven, 
which  vice  never  did  since  the  devil  laid  his  paws  upon 
the  world." 

"Ah,  master,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "tell  it  the  peo- 
ple out  of  the  pulpit  next  Sunday  that  the  devil's  a  cat, 
and  the  world  is  a  mouse,  tell  them  how  he  plays  with 
it,  and  tosses  it  from  one  claw  to  the  other,  now  lets  it 
go,  and  then  hooks  it  back,  and,  if  we  don't  take  care  to 
watch  him,  we  shall  all  be  snapt  up  at  last." 

"  You  would  have  more  sense  if  you  had  less  wit, 
John,"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "you  will  have  your  jest  if 
you  go  to  the  devil  for  it." 

"  That  joke  would  be  rather  too  far-fetched,  master," 
quoth  Old  Comical;  "for,  look  ye,  master,  I'll  be — " 

"  You  chattering  scoundrel ;  "  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  if 
you  don't  hold  your  tongue  I'll  throw  you  out  at  the 
window.  In  regard  to  this  house,  brother  John,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  it  must  be  cleared  as  soon  as  it  is  possible, 
my  tenant  comes  into  it  at  Lady-day." 

"  Well,  but,  my  good  brother  Bat,"  said  Mr.  Decastro, 
"  where  can  I  put  my  wife,  she  must  have  some  place 
to  receive  her  friends." 

"The  devil  is  in  it,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "if  she  can't 
see  friends  enough  at  Master  Grove's,  he  has  a  house 
[302] 


Ctir  liistoty  of  spr.  31o^n  SJfcastro 

as  big  as  an  hospital,  he  may  let  her  a  few  rooms  in 
it." 

"O  fie,  Mr.  Bartholomew  Decastro,"  whispered  Mr. 
Grove,  laying  his  finger  all  along  one  side  of  his  nose 
— "  O  fie,  Mr.  Bartholomew  Decastro,  do  you  suppose 
we  should  let  lodgings  ?  Mrs.  Decastro  never  gives 
more  than  one  party  in  a  season,  and  she  will  do  us  a 
great  favour  if  she  will  use  our  house  and  our  servants 
when  she  wants  them. 

"We  thank  you  as  much  as  if  we  did,  my  friend," 
said  Mr.  Decastro :  "  why  need  we  put  you  and  your 
people  to  any  trouble  ?  money  will  find  a  house  in  town 
for  my  wife,  money  will  find  servants,  money  entertain- 
ments, money  everything,  and  she  shall  have  enough 
to  let  folks  know  whose  wife  she  is  too." 

"  What  a  cursed  vice  his  pride  is,"  roared  Old  Crab ; 
"  thou  hast  a  thread  of  the  old  hank,  brother  John,  and 
to  get  it  once  fairly  out  of  thy  fabric  a  man  must  e'en 
pull  the  old  cloth  all  to  pieces !  Look  you,  brother 
John,  as  far  as  a  man  is  proud  he  is  sure  to  be  a  fool, 
to  say  no  worse  of  him ;  suppose  Master  Grove  lends 
your  wife  a  room,  or  two,  to  give  her  friends  a  gossip- 
ing, and  takes  nothing  for  it,  what  needs  that  stir  your 
monkey,  brother  John  ?  " 

"Why,  the  world  will  talk." 

"Aye,  there  lies  the  very  itch  of  it — can  the  tongue 
of  the  world  lick  a  bear  into  shape  ?  if  it  could,  you 
had  long  since  been  a  gentleman  of  very  curious  pro- 
portions ! — They  that  are  too  proud  to  borrow  may 
some  day  be  glad  to  beg ;  take  Master  Grove's  offer, 
and  if  your  wife's  gang  break  his  chairs,  or  throw  the 
tables  at  one  another's  head,  which  is  like  enough  if 
they  get  to  gambling,  pay  the  damage,  brother  John, 

[303] 


<Etje  fyimty  of  spr.  iflotm  SDeeaatro 

if  the  constables  can't  keep  the  peace  in  the  bear- 
garden. A  house  in  town !  the  devil  is  in  it  if  you 
have  not  had  enough  of  houses  in  town !  I'll  unken- 
nel your  wife  in  this,  however — I  made  the  vermin 
bolt  once  and  will  again,  I'll  warrant  her ! — If  she  hangs 
back,  out  go  all  her  bones  at  the  first  window — if  I 
don't  play  Old  Jezebel  with  her " 

"  Well,  well,  brother  Bat,"  said  Mr.  Decastro,  "  she 
shall  come  out  if  you  wish  it,  I  am  glad  it  is  let,  with 
all  my  heart." 

"Come  out,  aye!"  quoth  Old  Crab;  "what  the 
plague  has  she  to  do  to  sit  swelling  in  such  a  great 
house  as  that  ?  I  hate  the  sight  of  a  great  house,  for 
my  part ;  a  man  is  sure  either  to  find  a  great  fool  or  a 
great  scoundrel  in  it,  nine  times  in  ten :  if  a  man  knew 
his  enemy  he  would  throw  himself  neck  and  heels  out 
of  these  great  houses,  as  if  they  were  on  fire,  to  save 
himself  from  flames  unquenchable !  The  devil  keeps 
his  shop  and  counter  in  them  and  takes  men's  souls  in 
pay  for  every  thing  that  hell  imports — you  noisy  scoun- 
drel," quoth  he  to  Old  Comical,  who  kept  the  rest  of 
the  table  in  a  peal  of  laughter,  "  a  man  had  as  good 
speak  in  a  thunder-storm — silence,  you  wide-mouthed 
rascal ! " 

"Look  ye,  master,"  quoth  Old  Comical;  "you  arc 
the  rector  of  the  parish,  and  I  am  clerk  thereof,  put  in 
authority  under  you — and,  say  whatever  you  please,  it 
is  my  duty,  in  virtue  to  my  office,  to  say  Amen  to  it, 
that  is  all  one  as  if  a  man  should  say  '  so  be  it.' — Now, 
Beauty  says  here, — but  I  should  first  of  all  tell  you 
what  wine  she  has  drank — she  drank  ten  glasses  of  his 
honour's  neat  Madeira  at  dinner  to  lay  the  meat  even 
in  her  stomach,  to  keep  the  hogs  and  the  poultry,  the 
[304] 


&\)t  distort!  of  Spr.  31oljn  SDrcastro 

neat  and  other  horned  cattle  quiet  in  her  bowels — that 
is  as  good  as  to  say  to  drown  them,  for  that  is  one  way 
to  keep  such  things  quiet,  or,  as  your  honour  very  well 
knows,  they  might  be  for  running  about  in  her  belly 
and  breeding  a  disturbance  amongst  the  jellies  and  the 
sillabubs,  tarts,  sausages,  and  puddings,  and  turn  her 
stomach  out  at  the  window,  as  your  honour,  being 
rector  of  the  parish,  very  well  knows — very  good — so 
Beauty  drank  ten  glasses  of  his  honour's  neat  Madeira 
at  dinner  for  the  purposes  aforesaid,  and  to  good  end, 
forasmuch  as  I  have  not  heard  a  hen  cackle,  a  sheep 
bleat,  an  ox  bellow,  or  a  duck  quack  in  her  stomach — 
Adsbobs !  she  would  have  given  them  enough  of  it  if 
any  of  them  had  spoken  one  word,  for,  as  soon  as  she 
let  the  servants  take  away  the  residue  of  the  dinner, 
which  she  did  without  biting  or  scratching,  down  went 
seventeen  more  glasses  of  rare  old  stuff,  port,  claret, 
burgundy,  and  champagne,  to  make  sure  work  of  it, 
and  now  her  stomach  is  as  quiet  as  Noah's  Ark  at  mid- 
night, with  almost  as  great  a  variety  of  beasts  and  birds, 
and  creeping  things  stowed  in  its  hold ! — Now,  to  pick 
up  the  thread  of  my  discourse,  Beauty  says  " — at  that 
moment  the  ladies  were  retiring  into  the  drawing-room, 
and  Genevieve,  turning  round  to  Old  Comical,  flung 
half  an  orange,  which  she  was  sucking,  slap-dash  into 
his  mouth,  and  stopped  it  up  in  a  moment. 


[305] 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

More  Love  and  more  Kissing,  and  other  the  like  savoury 
Meats — Of  Genevieve  and  the  Philosopher — Of  George 
Grove  and  Julia — And  other  matters  by  way  of  a  Tail  to  the 
Chapter. 

Love  pounceth  upon  a  lady's  heart  with  beak  and 
talons  like  a  vulture  on  a  tender  dove! — there  is  a 
pretty  simile !  it  puts  us  in  mind  of  Horace's  red  rag, 
his  piirpareiis  pannus,  to  begin  with :  adszooks  !  but 
we  must  not  talk  Latin  to  the  ladies,  they  will  say 
directly  that  it  is  something  wicked,  something  that  is 
not  fit  to  eat — for  it  is  impossible  to  speak  one  word 
with  two  meanings  but  they  take  the  worst !  but  if  we 
have  not  a  care  we  shall  burn  our  fingers  in  this  fiery 
chapter — it  is  like  to  be  very  hot — the  ladies  had  best 
skip  it — or  lay  in  store  of  lettuces  and  camphor  before 
they  get  into  it.  In  the  first  place  here  is  Genevieve 
in  flames,  rolling  on  the  grass  under  a  monstrous 
weeping  willow  on  the  margin  of  the  lake,  torn  like  a 
mountain  with  imprisoned  fires  before  the  flame  bursts 
forth. 

"  My  dear  Jenny,"  said  her  friend  Lady  Charlotte 
Orby,  who  came  behind  her  unawares,  "what  in  the 
world  ails  you  ?  " 

Genevieve,  in  her  fury,  had  torn  her  hat  off  and 

flung  it  from  her  to  cool  her  head,  and  her  coal-black 

hair,  dishevelled,  fell  in  wild  disorder  about  her  snowy 

bosom,  any  one  who  had  seen  her  would  have  thought 

[3°6] 


<Tt)c  Cnstorv  of  $*r.  3|otm  Drcastro 

her  a  mad  thing:  willing  to  cool  both  ends,  she  had  also 
kicked  her  shoes  off  her  feet,  and  in  this  situation  she 
lay  sprawling  under  a  tree  when  Lady  Charlotte  came 
suddenly  upon  her: 

"My  dear  Jenny,"  said  she,  "what  in  the  world  is 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"Who  sent  for  you,  you  plague?"  said  Genevieve, 
"who  called  you  ?  " 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  I  will  go  away,  Jenny; 
I  am  glad  nothing's  the  matter,  but  John  Mathers  ran 
to  me  in  the  shrubbery,  and  said  that  you  were  in  a  fit, 
and  was  afraid  you  would  roll  into  the  water." 

"That  old  devil  is  always  lurking  about,"  said  Gene- 
vieve :  "  but  stay,  Charlotte — I  have  something  to  tell 
you — sit  down  by  me  here  on  the  grass :  bless  me !  my 
feet  are  so  ticklish  I  can  scarce  ever  put  my  own  shoes 
on  without  squealing,"  said  Genevieve,  putting  her 
shoes  on. 

"  You  are  in  a  very  odd  sort  of  a  way,"  said  Lady 
Charlotte;  "what  in  the  world  ails  you,  Jenny? " 

"  O  my  clear  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve,  "  I  am,  I 
am  in  love,  I  am  indeed !  I  wish  the  men  had  all  been 
hanged  before  I  was  born ! "  saying  which  Genevieve 
hid  her  face  in  Lady  Charlotte's  lap  and  fell  a-crying. 

"My  dear  Jenny,"  said  she,  composing  her  jetty 
locks  with  her  white  fingers  as  [they  lay  scattered  on 
her  neck,  "  My  dear  Jenny,  I  am  sure  you  have  nothing 
to  cry  for — give  but  the  least  hint,  and  you  may  have 
any  body — give  him  but  one  smile,  and  any  man  is  your 
own." 

"  Ah,  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve,  "  but  the  jackanapes 
that  I  am  grown,  I  scarce  know  how,  so  fond  of,  is  no 
common  thing;  he  is  so  very  sensible,  so  very  good,  so 
[307] 


tEtie  S?i0torg  of  Spi\  3|o&n  SDecastro 

very  handsome  and  so  very  odd — O  Charlotte,  Char- 
lotte ! — my  heart  feels  as  if  it  were  a  coal  of  fire  within 
me ! " 

"My  dearest  Jenny,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "don't 
talk  so  loud,  you  will  bring  people  about  you :  will  you 
make  me  still  more  your  confidant,  and  tell  me  who  it 
is  that  has  so  bewitched  you  ?  " 

"  O  Charlotte,  I  cannot  get  his  nasty  name  out  of 
my  mouth— I  cannot  tell  you — I  cannot  get  courage — 
but  I  will  tell  you  before  I  tell  any  body  else ;  you  shall 
know  first — you  shall  indeed.  O,  I  could  tear  him  to 
pieces,  as  folks  have  torn  tyrants  oftentimes,  for  seiz- 
ing thus  upon  the  empire  of  my  bosom  !  O  dearest — 
most  cursed — blessed — charming  devilish  angel !  what 
would  I  give  if  thou  wert  on  the  rack,  and  I  but  thy 
tormentor !  O  but  these  arms  should  be  thy  rack  and 
these  fingers  the  buckles  " — saying  which  she  seized 
on  Lady  Charlotte,  and  gave  her  a  squeeze  that  made 
her  eyes  water. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Jenny,"  said  her  ladyship,  pant- 
ing, "you  will  squeeze  the  breath  out  of  me !  " 

"O  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve,  "I  scarce 
know  what  I  do." 

"  If  you  don't  I  do,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  for  I  am 
sure  you  have  made  my  sides  ache ;  you  don't  consider 
how  strong  you  are !  you  must  govern  yourself,  or  you 
will  frighten  the  man  whom  you  love,  out  of  his  wits ; 
if  he  is  a  sensible  man  he  will  choose  a  woman  in  her 
senses." 

"  I  could  tear  out  my  tongue,  Charlotte,  for  having 
told  you  what,  I  think,  notwithstanding,  has  eased  my 
heart  in  the  telling ;  but  there  are  moments  in  every 
woman's  life  when  she  will  turn  her  heart  inside  out 

I.308  j 


&\)t  history  of  spr.  3flolju  sr>eca0tro 

like  a  purse  to  a  friend,  and  pour  forth  all  its  con- 
tents." 

"  My  dearest  Jenny,  did  I  ever  betray  anything  in 
my  life  that  you  entrusted  to  my  keeping? "  said  Lady 
Charlotte,  "  could  my  tongue  ever  be  more  silent  if  you 
had  put  it  into  a  box  and  kept  it  in  your  pocket  ? " 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Genevieve,  "  I  know  I  can  trust 
you — I  have  often  blamed  your  silence,  never  quarrelled 
with  you  for  talking — do  advise  me  in  this  matter,  for 
of  all  things  about  me  I  have  the  least  of  a  rational 
creature — I  am  getting  worse  and  worse  every  day, 
and  shall  do  some  foolish  thing — if  you  burned  as  I 
burn,"  said  she,  laughing,  "you  would  runabout  ami 
cry,  Fire!  Fire! " 

Poor  Genevieve !  and  then  she  fell  a-weeping  again, 
and  so,  between  fire  and  water,  she  was  in  a  comical 
taking.  Lady  Charlotte  comforted  her  all  she  could, 
and  pressed  her  to  tell  the  name  of  her  sweetheart,  but 
Genevieve  could  not  bring  herself  to  tell  it  for  her 
heart.  She  promised,  however,  to  tell  it  to  her  lady- 
ship first,  and  that  soon,  but  again  begged  for  her  ad- 
vice with  tears,  for  death,  she  said,  were  better  than  to 
live  without  him  she  loved. 

"I  could  advise  you  better,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "if 
I  knew  the  person ;  but  as  you  cannot  get  courage  to 
tell  me  his  name,  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  at  a  guess — 
you  say  he  is  an  odd  sort  of  a  man — and  sensible — sup- 
pose we  put  down  the  Philosopher,  who  is  both — and 
consider  what  were  best  to  be  done  if  he  were  the  very 
man." 

Genevieve,  at  the  naming  of  Acerbus,  fell  into  too 
great  a  pucker  not  to  tell  her  secret  in  almost  every 
possible  way  but  by  word  of  mouth, — and  the  crafty 
[309] 


XB\)t  piston?  of  $$r.  3|otm  SDecastro 

Lady  Charlotte  got  what  she  wanted,  making  counte- 
nance all  the  while  that  she  knew  nothing  of  the  matter, 
and  went  on  as  follows : — "  Well,  my  dear  Jenny,  I  will 
not  press  you  any  further  to  tell  me  the  name  of  your 
love,  and  will  advise  you  just  as  if  I  knew  nothing  about 
the  matter — in  the  first  place,  then,  you  must  moderate 
your  passions,  for  though  a  sensible  man  would  not 
marry  a  woman  without  passions,  he  would  be  loth  to 
put  up  the  banns  of  marriage  between  himself  and 
Mount  Vesuvius  for  instance,  and  live  in  constant  dread 
of  the  overflowings  of  matrimonial  lava — no  sensible 
man  can  be  expected  to  do  that,  Jenny." 

"  O  Charlotte,  Charlotte !  who  can  disembowel 
./Etna's  bosom,  and  change  it  into  frosty  Caucasus ! " 

"  What !  heroics,  Jenny !  you  must  be  far  gone  in- 
deed ! " 

"  You  toad,"  said  Genevieve,  "  I  will  throw  you  into 
the  lake — come,  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do — O  what  a 
fool  have  I  been  to  let  this  devil  get  the  dominion  over 
me." 

"Take  care,  Jenny,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "love 
makes  sad  havoc  in  a  proud  heart;  you  must  come 
down,  or  love  will  bring  you  down,  or  burn  you  down, 
take  my  word  for  it ;  otherwise  all  I  ever  heard  or  read 
of  him  are  downright  lies :— whoever  this  odd  mortal 
is  who  has  pinned  your  heart  in  his  sleeve " 


"  I  will  tear  it  off  and  go  and  live  at  my  estate  in 
Berkshire,"  said  Genevieve. 

"You  must  be  in  a  tearing  humour  indeed  if  you  do," 
said  her  ladyship;  "for  I  am  sure  no  poor  maiden's 
heart  was  ever  pinned  faster  to  any  man's  sleeve  than 
yours  seems  to  be ! " 

"You  saucy  little  devil,"  said  Genevieve,  "I  will 
[3io] 


&\)c  piston?  of  $0t.  ifloljn  SDccatftro 

throw  you  into  the  water ! "  saying  which,  Genevieve 
catched  up  Lady  Charlotte  in  her  arms,  and  ran  to  the 
bank  with  her,  and  made  her  squall  out. 

"  You  frighten  me  out  of  my  senses,  you  are  so  vio- 
lent, Jenny,"  said  she;  "love  makes  some  animals 
mad,  I  am  told ;  I  am  sure  it  has  driven  you  out  of 
your  wits ! — I  will  not  trust  myself  any  longer]  with 
you." 

"  My  dearest  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve,  kissing  her 
cheek,  "  pray  stay  with  me  and  comfort  me,  and  advise 
with  me,  what  can  I,  what  shall  I  do  ? " 

"  Will  you  promise  to  be  quiet  then  ? " 

"  I  will  indeed,"  said  she. 

"  Come,  sit  down  again,  then,  and  hear  me :  we  all 
wish  to  marry  the  man  we  love,  Jenny,  and  in  that 
there  can  be  no  harm  if  he  be  an  unexceptionable  per- 
son, and  we  all  wish  to  let  him  know,  in  an  honest  way, 
that  he  may  come  and  take  us  as  soon  as  he  will  for 
anything  we  care  about  the  matter;  but  the  greatest 
plagues  are  your  sensible  men,  and  such  a  one,  it  seems, 
you  have  to  deal  with,  for  they  are  sure  to  be  very 
modest  men,  and  to  think  lowly  of  their  own  merits,  so 
that  a  poor  girl  may  hint  her  heart  out  before  she  can 
make  them  understand  it  to  be  possible  that  they  can 
be  worthy  her  attention,  while  a  good-for-nothing  im- 
pudent coxcomb  will  take  the  most  distant  innuendo  to 
his  precious  self  in  a  moment,  and,  indeed,  will  set  it 
down  for  granted  that  we  are  all  equally  in  love  with 
him  if  we  could  but  find  it  in  our  hearts  to  speak.  But 
if  the  man  whom  you  love,  Jenny,  is  of  the  first  class, 
he  is  worth  all  your  pains,  and  I  will  put  you  in  a  way 
to  catch  him  if  he  is  not  in  your  net  already." 

"  My  dearest,  sweetest  Charlotte !  "  said  Genevieve. 
[3ii] 


Wtyt  fyi&toty  of  spr.  3|otjn  sr>ecastro 

"  No  more  of  your  ecstasies,"  said  Lady  Charlotte, 
"  for  they  absolutely  terrify  me ;  to  conquer  a  sensible 
man  you  must  conquer  yourself,  Jenny ;  men  love  to 
be  loved,  and  warmly  loved  too,  but  not  to  be  seized  by 
a  tiger." 

"  Come,"  said  Genevieve,  "  put  me  in  the  way,  I  want 
to  be  put  in  the  way,  for  I  fear  I  have  not  got  this  fish 
in  my  net,  who  is  worth  all  I  ever  caught  put  together." 

"It  is  a  good  rule,  Jenny,"  said  she,  "in  running 
after  any  thing  to  take  care  not  to  make  a  false  step  by 
the  way,  and,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Jenny,  I  must  say 
that  I  think  your  neck  is  as  much  in  danger  as  any 
neck  in  the  world." 

"  You  be  hanged,"  said  Genevieve,  "  come  to  the 
point ;  the  worst  of  advice  is,  that  it  deals  so  much  in 
generals:  come  to  my  particular  case — you  are  a  sly 
gipsy,  and  I  dare  say  can  be  of  use  to  me — tell  me  how 
I  am  to  act,  for  I  declare  solemnly  to  you,  Charlotte, 
that  I  cannot,  will  not  live  without  this  angelic  devil 
— O,  I  love  him !  dearly,  dearly  love  him ! — sure  no 
fond  heart  was  half  so  fond  as  mine ! — If  I  don't  wish 
you  were  as  much  in  love  as  I  am,  Charlotte,  I  wish 
I  may  be  hanged — why  don't  you  go  on  ?  " 

"  Go  on ! "  said  her  ladyship,  "  who  can  speak  a 
word  while  you  are  raving  in  this  manner  ?  you  will  not 
give  the  echoes  time  to  say  after  you,  or  I  am  sure  the 
walls  of  the  castle,  though  they  are  half  a  mile  off, 
would  repeat  every  word  you  said ! — attend  to  me — I 
will  suppose  for  a  moment,  just  to  keep  some  one  in 
my  eye,  that  Acerbus,  our  philosopher,  were  the  man 
of  your  heart.  (Genevieve  fluttered.)  What  ails  you, 
Jenny?"  continued  her  ladyship;  "are  you  cold  that 
you  shudder  so?" 


Wyt  fristorp  of  spi*.  31olirt  £>eca$tro 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  cold  !  no ;  I  am  very  far  from  being 
cold  indeed  at  this  moment." 

"Well  then,"  said  her  ladyship,  "we  will  just  sup- 
pose for  argument  sake,  that  Acerbus  was  the  very 
man  of  your  heart — now  the  first  thing  you  must  do  is 
to  study  the  temper,  habits,  inclinations  and  pursuits 
of  the  philosopher.  Acerbus  is  fond  of  reading,  and  it 
is  like  would  be  fond  of  one  who  was  fond  of  reading 
too.  He  is  much  engaged  in  natural  history,  and 
would  be  more  taken  with  a  new  lizard,  a  new  beetle, 
or  a  new  butterfly  than  a  hundred  other  things  which 
would  catch  the  fancies  of  others;  now  you  must  like, 
or  seem  to  like  the  things  which  he  likes,  but  be  sure 
you  let  him  find  it  out  by  chance.  He  has  a  large  col- 
lection of  caterpillars  which  he  feeds  in  a  glass  case  to 
see  the  changes  of  these  curious  animals,  put  your  hand 
to  the  same  thing,  and  get  some  too,  and  let  him  see 
you  by  mere  chance  gathering  leaves  for  your  cater- 
pillars, it  will  take  his  attention,  he  will  press  you  to 
show  him  your  caterpillars ;  then  do  you  make  a  favour 
of  it,  refuse  him,  and  let  him  entreat  before  you  yield 
to  his  desires.  But  you  must  so  manage  the  thing  as 
to  get  detected  in  it,  not  make  any  show  of  it,  lest  he 
suspect  a  trap. — The  philosopher  is  very  busy  in  mak- 
ing a  collection  of  natural  curiosities,  as  far  as  his  nar- 
row resources  will  permit,  you  are  able  to  do  the  same 
in  a  far  more  costly  way,  and  I  suppose  you  had  as  lief 
put  your  money  to  this  use  as  any  other,  do  so,  the 
thing  will  catch  his  attention,  and  be  a  means  to  catch 
something  else  at  the  same  time.  Acerbus  is  fond  of 
shooting,  remember  never  let  any  game  leave  the  table 
without  eating  of  it  and  commending  it.  Make  his 
dogs  fond  of  you  by  taking  a  bit  of  bread  with  you, 


W\)t  History  of  ®S)t.  Iftotyn  SDecastro 

when  you  are  like  to  meet  with  them,  he  will  be  pleased 
to  see  his  dogs  fond  of  you  and  you  of  his  dogs,  and  if 
you  are  taken  by  surprise  in  giving  a  pointer  a  bit  of 
bread,  or  a  kiss,  for  there  is  no  immodesty  in  kissing  a 
pointer's  forehead,  try  to  make  your  escape  as  if  you 
did  not  wish  to  be  seen  in  it.  I  am  afraid  matters  are 
too  far  gone  with  you,  or  you  might  use,  at  times,  some 
little  scorn  and  contempt,  for  we  should  never  let  the 
person  know  whom  we  wish  to  catch,  that  we  are  hunt- 
ing for  him." 

"  O  my  dear  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve  with  a  sigh, 
"  this  is  all  such  a  roundabout  way  to  come  at  what  one 
ardently  desires ;  one  that  loves  as  I  do,  if  these  things 
could  be  done  as  you  say,  cannot  have  the  patience  to 
do  them ! " 

"  What  can  we  poor  women  do,"  returned  her  lady- 
ship, "  but  sit  like  a  spider  in  a  corner,  and  watch  and 
wait  till  the  fly  rushes  into  our  toils?  The  person 
must  come  of  his  own  accord,  we  cannot  dart  out  and 
seize  on  our  prey,  and,  indeed,  it  would  not  be  worth 
our  having  if  we  could." 

"  A  plague  take  the  jackanapes ! "  said  Genevieve ; 
"  I  wish  he  had  been  hanged  for  sheep-stealing  before 
he  had  stolen  my  sheepish  heart,  then  I  might  have 
wrapped  myself  quietly  in  my  wool  and  slept  soundly  o' 
nights !  O  Charlotte,  Charlotte !  I  hate  the  thoughts 
of  night !  did  you  ever  hear  of  any  who  ran  mad  in  her 
dreams  ? " 

"  No,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  I  think  it  is  quite  enough 
for  people  to  run  mad  with  their  eyes  open.  I  have 
heard  of  such  folks  before  now." 

"  And  you  need  not  go  far  for  an  instance  your  sauci- 
ness  would  insinuate,"  said  Genevieve,  "  meaning  me, 

[3>4] 


Ct)e  i)istory  of  $©r.  Jlotm  £>ccastro 

however,  you  need  not  go  far  to  find  a  fool,  or  I  had 
kept  this  folly  to  myself,"  added  she,  and  wept. 

"Come,  my  dear  Jenny,"  said  her  ladyship,  "you 
cannot  be  in  safer  hands,  though  I  must  contradict  you 
in  this,  and  beg  to  say,  that  to  feel  a  regard  for  a  young 
man  of  merit  is  not  a  folly ;  so  far  otherwise,  I  think  it 
is  no  very  common  mark  of  wisdom  in  our  sex,  so  apt 
as  they  are  to  have  false  appetites  for  the  veriest  trash 
of  mankind.  Alas,  my  dearest  Jenny,  how  seldom  do 
we  see  a  beauty  in  the  arms  of  a  worthy  man !  But 
to  return  to  our  philosopher " 

"  Return  to  our  philosopher ! "  said  Genevieve  with 

a  start,  "  why,  you  speak  as  if  Acerbus  was  " here 

she  hesitated. 

"Don't  put  yourself  into  a  flutter,"  said  her  ladyship; 
"  we  have  put  him  for  your  heart-stealer,  your  charm- 
ing thief,  all  the  while,  because  Acerbus  is  very  odd, 
and  very  sensible,  and  very  good,  and  to  say  the  truth, 
I  think,  if  you  are  so  fond  of  odd  things  that  are  sensible 
things  and  good  things,  yes,  and  handsome  things  too, 
for  I  think  the  philosopher  a  very  handsome  man." 

"You  great  fool,"  said  Genevieve,  "how  you  talk!" 

"  Yes,  I  say,"  continued  she,  "  for  I  will  not  be  beaten 
off;  I  think,  if  you  are  so  fond  of  all  those  odd  things, 
that  Acerbus  the  philosopher  would  not  go  against 
your  stomach." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  plague  ?  "  said  Genevieve ; 
"  I'd  as  lief  marry  the  wonderful  fish  that  was  shown  in 
Piccadilly  for  a  shilling. — I  shall  be  afraid  of  you,  Char- 
lotte, after  what  I  have  told  you,  I  have  put  myself, 
like  a  great  fool,  so  much  in  your  power:  tell  me  that 
you  are  in  love  directly  that  I  may  be  even  with  you." 

"O  that  I  am,"  said  she,  "and  not  such  a  fool  to 
[3i5] 


Wt)t  J?istotv  of  ^c»  31otjn  2E>ecastro 

make  any  secret  of  it,  and  want  to  be  married  so  bad 
that  I  sometimes  fall  a-crying  about  it !  " 

"You  are  a  queer  toad,  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve; 
"  but,  seriously,  you  would  not  have  me  tell  people  so  ? " 

"Yes,  but  I  would  though,"  said  her  ladyship,  "for 
it  might  get  round  to  the  ears  of  my  love,  and  then  he 
might  take  compassion  and  send  me  a  letter.  But 
come,  Jenny,  tell  me  when  you  saw  your  wonderful 
fish  last,  and  if  you  think  he  is  like  to  bite  at  you?  I 
think  if  you  do  as  I  bid  you,  that  you  will  soon  find 
him  a-nibbling.  But,  remember,  not  a  bit  of  the  hook 
must  be  seen;  he  must  feel  that  before  he  sees  it." 

The  ladies  were  now  disturbed  by  voices,  and  hurried 
away. 

A  few  days  after  this,  and  some  more  of  the  like 
advice,  Genevieve  began  to  open  a  new  plan  of  works 
against  the  philosopher,  and  it  came  to  pass  that  he 
dropt  upon  her  unawares  under  a  hedge  in  one  of 
Old  Crab's  meadows.  She  had  a  little  basket  in  her 
hand,  and  his  favourite  pointer  Ponto  was  lying  by  her 
side  as  she  sat  upon  the  grass.  The  philosopher  saw 
her  very  busy  with  her  fingers  in  her  basket,  and  felt 
some  curiosity  to  see  what  she  was  doing ;  and  pres- 
ently she  gave  Ponto  a  bit  of  sweet  cake  out  of  it,  who 
put  his  two  paws  directly  into  her  lap,  and  fell  to  lick- 
ing her  face  as  if  it  were  something  very  savoury.  She 
did  not  seem  to  take  Ponto's  kisses  much  in  anger, 
however,  for  she  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  gave  him 
some  in  return,  and  another  piece  of  sweet  cake,  when 
the  pointer  curled  himself  round  and  lay  down  at  her 
feet. 

Love  me,  love  my  dog,  quoth  the  philosopher  to  him- 
self, and,  plucking  a  leaf,  put  it  between  the  pages  of 

[3i6] 


C^c  fttetor?  of  99r.  3Tol^ii  SDccastro 

a  folio  edition  of  Aristotle  to  keep  his  place,  then  laid 
the  old  Stagirite  down  under  an  oak,  crept  round  the 
bush  under  which  Genevieve  sat,  and  saw  her  pick  a 
great  caterpillar  off  it  and  put  it  into  her  basket.  Ponto, 
smelling  his  master,  jumped  up  at  that  moment  and 
began  to  whine  and  wag  his  tail.  Genevieve  jumped 
up  too,  and  saw  the  philosopher  standing  behind  the 
bush. 

"You  great  blockhead,"  said  she,  "what  are  you 
come  for? " 

"Come  for!"  said  Acerbus,  "why,  this  is  the  way  I 
usually  walk  in  an  evening — what  makes  Ponto  and 
you  so  fond  of  one  another  all  on  a  sudden  ?  what  have 
you  got  in  that  basket,  Jenny  ?  " 

'•  What's  that  to  you,  you  fool,"  said  she,  "nothing 
at  all." 

"I  sec  some  leaves  in  it,"  said  he,  poking  his  finger 
under  its  lid. 

"  Keep  your  nasty  fingers  out  of  my  basket,  or  I'll 
beat  it  about  your  stupid  pate,"  said  she. 

"You  are  very  cross  this  evening,  Jenny,"  said  he — 
"  come,  I  know  what  is  in  it,  there  is  some  cake  in  it, 
for  I  saw  you  give  Ponto  a  bit  of  cake  out  of  it — and  I 
saw  you  put  some  leaves  and  a  caterpillar  into  it." 

"Then,  if  you  know,  why  d'ye  ask,  ye  great  ass?" 
said  she. 

"To  see  if  you  made  any  secret  of  what  it  had  in  it," 
said  he;  "let  me  just  look  at  your  caterpillar,  Jenny." 

"You  shall  not  see  it,  so  get  along,"  said  she. 

"  I  lost  a  very  curious  one  in  that  very  bush  yester- 
day, it  made  its  escape  among  the  leaves — pray  tell 
me,  cousin,  has  it  got  a  horn  upon  its  tail  ? " 

The  philosopher,  a  little  too  eager  to  see  Genevieve's 
[3i7]    ' 


1&ty  totori?  of  ^pr«  31otin  SDecastto 

caterpillar,  laid  hold  on  her  basket,  upon  which  she  gave 
him  a  great  push  and  rolled  him  upon  the  grass.  Lady- 
Charlotte,  who  had  wandered  from  her  friend  in  search 
of  wild  flowers,  came  round  some  trees  just  as  the 
philosopher  was  tumbled  upon  the  ground — she  ran  to 
him,  and  asked  him  kindly  if  he  was  hurt  ? — seeing  him 
laugh,  she  said,  "  I  declare,  if  I  were  you,  cousin,  I 
would  go  and  tumble  her  down  out  of  pure  revenge ! " 

"  If  the  blockhead  comes  near  me  again,"  said  Gene- 
vieve with  a  haughty  frown,  "  I  will  break  his  neck." 
Upon  this  Acerbus  walked  away.  "  Call  your  dog," 
said  Genevieve,  driving  poor  Ponto  from  her,  "  I  can't 
think  what  the  brute  comes  after  me  for  ?  " 

Poor  Ponto  turned  his  head  round  as  he  went  from 
her,  and  gave  her  a  look  that  cut  her  to  the  heart. 

"Jenny,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  as  soon  as  Acerbus 
had  walked  a  good  distance,  "  if  you  drive  the  men  away 
in  this  manner,  you  had  best  drive  them  out  of  your 
thoughts  too;  for  you  may  take  my  word  for  it  you 
will  get  such  a  name,  if  you  have  it  not  already,  that 
not  a  man  of  them  all  will  come  within  an  acre's  length 
of  you."  Genevieve  threw  herself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree 
and  wept.  "  I  vow,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  I  will  call 
Acerbus  back  and  you  shall  beg  his  pardon.  I  saw 
what  passed — he  only  wanted  to  look  into  your  basket 
— what  have  you  got  in  it  ? "  said  she. 

"  Let  the  basket  alone,  Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve, 
"  or  I  shall  be  very  angry  with  you !  stay,  Charlotte, 
you  shall  not  call  him  back :  I  beg  his  pardon !  I'll 
beg  him  a  halter !  He  has  been  watching  me  about  all 
the  evening,  what  can  the  coxcomb  want  ? " 

"  Come,  Jenny,  don't  abuse  my  cousin,  he  is  no  cox- 
comb— I  wish  I  could  catch  him  watching  me  about,  as 
[3i8] 


(Elje  SnBtorp  of  $pr.  31oljn  ©ecastro 

you  say,  he  should  not  ask  twice  to  look  into  my  basket, 
I  assure  you." 

"I  declare  I'll  tell  him  what  you  say  the  next  time  I 
meet  him,"  said  Genevieve. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  I  don't  care 
how  soon  he  knows  it ;  but  you'll  bite  your  tongue  off 
before  you  will  tell  him  so,  I  know  very  well." 

"  Do  you  think  I  care  whose  basket  he  looks  into, 
Charlotte?" 

"  Well,  my  dear  Jenny,  don't  be  so  angry ;  my  cousin 
is  an  odd  mortal,  but  he  is  a  very  handsome,  and,  what 
is  better,  a  very  worthy  young  man ;  there  is  as  much 
difference  between  him  and  other  young  men  of  these 
fine  days,  as  there  is  between  men  and  monkeys." 

"  George  Grove  is  as  good  every  bit  and  as  handsome 
without  his  oddities,"  said  Genevieve. 

"  High  ho,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  there  you  have 
hit  upon  my  true  love !— the  next  time  I  meet  Julia  I'll 
tear  her  cap.  O,  Jenny,  Jenny,  what  a  nice  young  man 
George  Grove  is !  I  wish  the  law  allowed  us  two  hus- 
bands, I  should  like  to  have  George  and  Acerbus,  and 
take  one  for  summer  and  the  other  for  winter." 

"  You  gipsy,  you  don't  care  a  farthing  for  either,  or 
any  body  else,  you  would  not  be  so  merry  if  you  did." 

"I  declare  I  will  look  into  your  basket,"  said  her 
ladyship,  and,  pulling  open  its  lid,  turned  it  bottom  up- 
ward, when  out  tumbled  twenty  caterpillars  and  a  great 
luncheon  of  sweet  cake. 

Up  jumped  Genevieve,  and  away  ran  Lady  Charlotte 
and  she  after  her ;  it  would  have  clone  any  man's  heart 
good  to  have  seen  the  race.  Were  there  any  tumbles  ? 
Yes — Lady  Charlotte  fell  twice  and  Genevieve  three 
times.  Were  there  any  shows? — yes  —  exhibitions, 
[3i9] 


W$t  $?t$tor\>  of  Spr.  violin  ©ecastro 

rather,  worth  all  the  shows  at  Somerset-house,  for 
whoever  saw  a  lady  tumble  down  in  a  picture  and  get 
up  again  ?  What's  a  picture  good  for  when  not  a  figure 
in  it  can  set  one  foot  before  the  other  ? 

Segnius  irritant  animos  dimissa  per  aurem 
Quam  quae  sunt  oculis  subjecta  fidelibus.*       hor. 

What  a  sad  loss  it  is  to  ladies  and  gentlemen,  their 
ignorance  of  the  Latin  tongue !  Now  it  came  to  pass 
that  the  race  aforesaid  ran  by  Old  Crab's  garden,  where 
Old  Comical  was  digging  up  some  potatoes — he  saw 
them  coming  afar  off,  Lady  Charlotte  scouring  along 
and  Genevieve  pouring  after  her !  frightened,  at  first, 
he  looked  to  see  if  any  dog  or  other  animal  was  in  pur- 
suit, but  as  soon  as  he  found  all  was  in  fun,  Old  Comical 
whipt  a  chemise  off  a  clothes  line,  and,  jumping  upon 
a  great  horse-block,  displayed  the  Holland  at  arm's 
length  by  way  of  prize  to  the  winner:  seeing  which 
Genevieve  stopt  short,  and  Lady  Charlotte  ran  laugh- 
ing into  Old  Crab's  garden. 

Although  these  things  happened  sometime  after- 
wards, we  must  add  a  word  or  two  in  this  place  before 
we  go  back  to  bring  George  and  Julia's  love  affair  along 
with  us : — A  turkey,  upon  occasion,  will  just  put  its  head 
into  a  little  hole,  and  think,  like  a  fool,  that  no  part  of 
its  body  can  be  seen.  Genevieve's  regard  for  the 
philosopher  was  quite  as  much  hid,  and  she  quite  as 
much  a  fool  to  think  that  nobody  could  see  the  very 

*  The  quotation  is  from  Horace's  "Ars  Poetica,"  lines  1S0- 
181.     Conington's  translation  runs  as  follows  : 

A  thing  when  heard,  remember,  strikes  less  keen 
On  the  spectator's  mind  than  when  'tis  seen. 

Editor' s  Note. 

[32°] 


QLX)i  {?i0torp  of  $®x.  3flofjn  EDrcastro 

thing  that  was  apparent  to  every  body's  eyes! — But 
why  conceal  any  thing  from  her  friend  when  she  had 
confessed  so  much  ? — Why  not  show  the  turkey's  head 
as  well  as  the  turkey's  tail  ?  This  is  one  of  those  nice 
shades  of  complexion,  reader,  which  colour  Genevieve, 
one  of  those  fine  cracks  in  her  character  which  serve 
to  show  how  her  joinery  differs  from  other  women; 
one  of  those  delicate  juncturae,  as  Horace  calls  them, 
invisible  to  all  but  the  judicious  eye — and  it  would  have 
been  unpardonable  in  the  historian  not  to  have  brought 
the  reader's  nose  close  enough  to  discover  it.  But  why 
did  she  run  after  Lady  Charlotte  ?  Why  she  was  in 
love,  which  is  one  reason  for  doing  any  thing ;  but  here 
we  own,  which  is  a  great  deal  more  than  many  histori- 
ans will  do,  we  own  we  cannot  tell — we  can  guess, 
however,  with  the  best  of  them,  and  own  it  too,  which 
is  also  more  than  many  will  do — she  might  run  after 
her  ladyship  to  beg  of  her  to  keep  to  herself  what  sus- 
picions came  into  her  head  upon  seeing  the  pointer,  the 
cake,  and  the  caterpillars,  aye,  and  the  philosopher  too, 
all  so  near  together,  that  there  certainly  seemed  to  be 
some  secret  connection  which  Genevieve  had  no  mind 
should  be  seen ;  or  she  might  run  after  Lady  Charlotte 
to  stretch  her  legs  after  sitting  so  long  upon  the  ground 
at  play  with  the  philosopher's  dog;  or  she  might  wish 
to  know  which  could  run  the  fastest;  or  she  might 
want  to  whip  Lady  Charlotte;  or  she  might  have  an 
I-don't-kno\v-howishness  about  her  which  no  lady  can 
run  away  from  unless  she  runs  one  way — this  is  all 
very  foolish ! — you  are  right,  reader,  it  is  made  so  on 
purpose  to  please  the  fools,  which  are  nine  parts  in  ten 
of  the  world,  and  therefore  best  worth  a  writer's  pleas- 
ing, for  if  all  the  fools  will  buy  a  book,  as  for  reading  it 
21  [321] 


Wyi  totoip  of  spr.  3lot)n  SDecastro 

they  may  just  do  as  they  please  about  that,  the  writer 
were  a  fool  too  for  his  pains  if  he  cared  a  farthing  for 
a  few  wise  folks  in  a  corner. 

When  we  came  to  the  word  "corner,"  we  grew  so 
dull,  notwithstanding  the  brilliancy  of  our  genius,  that 
we  could  not  write  another  for  half  an  hour ;  and  we 
dare  say  that  there  have  been  certain  times  and  seasons 
when  the  divine  Plato  himself  had  not  a  word  to  throw 
at  a  dog,  and  Aristotle  could  not  say  "  boh  ! "  to  a 
goose. — When  a  man  talks  to  the  wise  he  should  fill  his 
sentences  full  of  shining  sparks;  when  he  writes,  he 
should  set  his  page  with  diamonds.  But  what  is  be- 
come of  Genevieve  ? — well  put  in,  we  had  as  much  for- 
got her  as  if  no  such  star  e'er  shone  in  beauty's  heaven. 
Let  us  just  peep  into  her — What  a  raree-show  a  beau- 
tiful woman  is !  what  a  number  of  pretty  things  she 
carries  about  with  her  which  it  rejoiceth  the  heart  of 
man  to  look  at !  and  yet  how  little  is  seen  in  compari- 
son to  what  is  not  seen !  What  if  a  man  could  go  over 
new  ground  ? — [The  Solid  Gentleman  gave  Old  Comical 
a  jog  at  the  elbow  here,  and  made  him  blot  where  he  did 
not  intend  it.] — Well,  well,  we  have  done,  we  have 
done ;  but  what  needs  a  woman  to  hide  what  she  never 
stole?  If  she  hath  a  handsome  leg,  why  may  not  a 
man  ask  to  look  at  it  ?  If  every  thing  that  is  made  is  a 
good  thing,  what  hinders  but  a  good  thing  may  be  seen  ? 
If  a  thing  be  a  bad  thing,  why,  the  more  it  were  hid, 
and  the  less  it  were  seen,  the  better :  if  a  good  thing, 
what  else  were  worth  the  looking  at  ?  A  good  thing 
can  do  no  good,  nor  get  any  credit,  if  it  be  forever  hid, 
the  beauty  of  its  workmanship  is  thrown  away  upon 
it,  the  admiration  of  the  world  is  lost !  The  children  of 
the  brush,  and  the  children  of  the  chisel,  the  noble 

[32O 


®\)t  totorp  of  Spr.  31otjn  SDrcastro 

works  of  the  painter  and  the  statuary,  what  would  it 
boot  the  world  if  all  were  locked  up  in  the  closets  of 
the  artist  ?  What  would  a  man  say  if  any  body  put 
Venus  di  Medici  into  petticoats  ?  and,  if  a  man  wanted 
to  look  at  her  legs,  make  a  great  outcry,  and  say,  it 
were  indecent  to  touch  her  clothes  ?  What  the  devil, 
is  not  a  fine  woman  to  have  the  advantage  of  a  stone 
statue  ?  Must  all  those  beauties  be  hidden  which  are 
the  divine  originals  of  these  marble  excellencies  ?  The 
ladies  arc  fools  to  submit  to  any  such  dishonour. 
Clothes  are  a  disgrace  to  a  beauty !  The  finest  limbs 
in  the  world  ought  not  to  be  kept  in  the  dark,  it  is  an 
insult  upon  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  sex  to  wear 
any  clothes  at  all ! — let  the  old  and  the  ugly,  the  halt 
and  the  deformed  hide  themselves,  and  welcome,  from 
the  eyes  of  the  world,  but  be  beauty's  heaven  no  longer 
overcast  with  clothes ;  let  every  pretty  woman  disrobe 
by  all  means,  and  pour  her  glories  upon  the  world  like 
the  sun  without  a  cloud  ! 

Hollo !  who  can  show  us  the  way  back  into  the  high 
road  ?  Right,  very  right !  aye,  aye,  we  were  just  going 
to  look  into  Genevieve's  bosom;  now,  we  suppose,  not- 
withstanding its  exquisite  beauty,  some  may  think  a 
man  had  better  look  into  an  ulcer ;  a  man  had  best  keep 
his  eyes  out  of  dangerous  places,  certainly,  so  we  will 
turn  our's  another  way. 

Genevieve  had  told  her  friend  that  she  was  in  love, 
but  would  not,  for  some  reason,  name  her  sweetheart 
to  her; — now  the  circumstantial  evidence  which  had 
just  arisen,  cast,  like  the  sun,  such  a  blaze  of  light  upon 
the  philosopher,  that,  unless  it  pusher  ladyship's  eyes 
out,  for  one  sometimes  cannot  see  for  light,  Genevieve 
had  good  reason  to  think  that  her  friend  could  be  kept 
l>3] 


tEI^c  $?t0tor£  of  ty)t.  31o^t  SDccastro 

no  longer  in  the  dark :  and  though  none  need  light  a 
candle  to  find  Genevieve's  honest  man,  she,  however, 
good  soul,  thought  him  as  much  hid  as  if  she  had  put 
him  in  a  locket,  and  dropt  him  down  half  a  yard  into 
her  bosom.  Her  kissing  his  dog  and  feeding  him  with 
sweet  cake,  and  her  falling  all  on  a  sudden  to  gathering 
caterpillars  in  a  basket,  looked  so  like  following  her 
friend's  advice  to  catch  a  philosopher,  that,  if  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  case  had  been  counted  out  by  my 
Lord  Ellenborough,  (God  bless  him !)  counted  out  by 
my  Lord  Ellenborough  before  a  jury,  Genevieve  had 
gone  nigh  to  be  hanged.  But  we  must  now  stick  a 
bough  in  the  ground  to  mark  how  far  we  have  run 
forward,  and  run  back  to  bring  George  and  Julia  to  this 
place. 

To  return  then  to  Oaken  Grove : — the  love  affair  be- 
tween George  Grove  and  Julia  began  very  much  to 
engage  the  attention  of  the  families  in  that  neighbour- 
hood ;  who,  according  to  custom  in  these  cases,  con- 
trived to  meet  each  other  without  the  knowledge  or 
consent  of  their  parents.  Mr.  Grove  and  Old  Crab 
had  talked  a  good  deal  on  this  matter,  and  had  come 
to  a  resolution  to  put  a  stop  to  it  as  soon  as  possible. 
Old  Crab  had  said,  and  repeated  it,  that  he  had  no  ob- 
jection to  George  Grove  at  all;  he  was  a  very  good 
lad,  but  he  had  no  thoughts  of  making  his  daughter  a 
fine  lady,  her  breeding  never  looked  that  way,  he  had 
no  mind  to  match  her  into  such  a  family  as  Mr.  Grove's, 
she  had  not  been  bred  to  any  such  expectations.  As 
to  money,  he  thought  there  might  be  too  much  as  well 
as  too  little,  he  looked  to  a  competency,  and  that  was 
all  he  looked  to,  for  his  child,  it  bade  fairer  for  her 
happiness  and  comfort  than  to  marry  a  man  of  twenty 
[3M] 


Ct)e  history  of  £l9r*  ]fotm  Dccastro 

thousand  a-year.  Mr.  Grove  readily  agreed  with  Old 
Crab  upon  this,  and  they  parted  with  a  determination 
to  keep  George  and  Julia  at  a  distance  from  each  other. 

Old  Crab,  upon  his  return  to  the  farm,  having  a  little 
time  on  his  hands,  took  a  walk  round  his  grounds  to 
examine  his  fences,  or  to  look  if  his  cattle  were  in  their 
pastures,  when,  coming  near  the  little  grove  where 
George  and  Julia  held  their  meetings,  he  fancied  that 
he  heard  the  sound  of  voices  in  it,  upon  which  he 
walked  into  the  copse,  and  getting  a  little  nearer  to  the 
place  whence  the  sound  came,  he  heard  George  Grove 
say,  "  If  you  cannot  come,  Julia,  put  a  letter  under  the 
stone  as  usual." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  said  she,  "  if  I  cannot  come,  but  I 
will  come  if  I  can." 

This  was  an  unlucky  discovery ;  Old  Crab,  however, 
lay  by  till  they  were  gone  out  of  the  wood,  and  upon 
looking  a  little  further  in  it,  came  to  a  pretty  arbour 
woven  of  braided  boughs  under  a  spreading  tree,  which 
formed  a  broad  back  to  a  chair  made  of  turf  and  moss, 
in  the  bark  of  which  Julia  and  George's  names  were 
carved  in  true-love-knots  and  pretty  flourishes.  So 
thick  was  the  roof  plated  with  boughs  interwoven  to- 
gether that  it  protected  Old  Crab  from  a  heavy  shower 
of  rain  which  fell  at  that  time. 

As  soon  as  the  shower  was  over,  he  went  home  with- 
out speaking  a  word  about  this  his  discovery,  but  re- 
turning to  the  place  the  next  morning  he  found  a  letter 
for  George  put  under  the  stone  aforesaid. — This  letter 
explained  matters  a  little  further,  and  gave  him  to 
understand  that  a  mutual  promise  had  been  made  be- 
tween them  to  be  true  to  each  other.  When  he  came 
home  he  called  for  Julia,  who  was  busy  in  the  dairy,  and 

[325] 


Wqt  $?iaton?  of  Spr.  jflotjn  Decastro 

said,  "  Come  here,  you  jade,  who  taught  you  to  write 
letters  ? " 

"  Write  letters,  papa  ? " 

"  Yes,  who  taught  you  to  write  letters,  I  say  ? " 

"  Nobody,  papa." 

"  What,  did  you  never  write  a  letter  in  your  life, 
hussy  ? " 

"Yes,  papa,  I  have  written  two  or  three." 

"  To  whom  ?  answer  me  this  moment." 

"  La !  papa,  what  do  you  ask  for  ?  " 

"  No  matter,  tell  me,  I  say,  to  whom  have  you  writ- 
ten ? " 

"  Why,  I  wrote  once  to  my  uncle  at  the  castle,  to  tell 
him  when  you  would  send  him  some  hay  and  some 
oats  for  his  horses ;  you  bid  mamma  do  it,  and  mamma 
bid  me  do  it — her  eyes  were  weak  from  a  cold,  papa, 
and  so — " 

"  Come,  chattering — whom  did  you  ever  write  to  be- 
sides ? " 

"  Sometimes  to  my  cousin  Jenny,  papa." 

"  To  whom  else  ?  did  you  ever  write  to  any  man  be- 
sides your  uncle  ? " 

"  Man,  papa,  man,  papa  ?  " 

"  Yes,  man — you  know  the  meaning  of  the  word,  I 
warrant." 

"  Dear  papa — what  man  can  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Did  you,  or  did  you  not  ever  write  to  any  man 
besides  your  uncle? — tell  me  this  instant!"  Julia 
blushed.     "  Why  don't  the  girl  speak  ?  "  quoth  he. 

"Write,  papa — no." 

"  Come  here  this  moment !  " 

Upon  which  Old  Crab,  pulling  poor  Julia  a  little 
roughly  upon  his  knee,  took  the  letter,  which  he  had 


Ctje  Jfristotr  of  m.  31oljn  EDccastro 

found  directed  to  George  Grove  and  put  under  the 
stone  in  the  little  arbour,  out  of  his  pocket,  and  opening- 
it  under  her  eyes,  "  You  young  hussy,"  said  he,  "  what 
do  you  call  this  ? " 

Poor  Julia,  the  moment  she  saw  the  letter,  fainted 
away,  and  fell  upon  Old  Crab's  bosom.  She  held  a 
milk-pan  in  her  hand,  coming  out  of  the  dairy  in  haste 
on  being  called,  which  dropt  upon  the  ground  and 
made  a  great  noise,  at  which  her  mother,  running  in  a 
great  hurry  to  see  what  was  broken,  for  it  was  an 
earthen  pan,  found  Julia  in  a  fit  supported  by  her  father, 
and  fell  to  the  usual  modes  and  means  of  recovering 
her  without  asking  any  questions. 

Old  Crab  took  a  walk  forthwith  to  Hindermark,  and 
laid  this  his  second  discovery  and  Julia's  letter  before 
Mr.  Grove.  George  was  called  and  the  letter  shown 
to  him.  A  wiser  man  than  he  would  have  looked  like  a 
fool  upon  such  an  occasion,  so  he  could  not  be  expected 
to  look  much  otherwise.  Mr.  Grove  was  very  well  in- 
formed by  this  letter  how  matters  stood  between  his 
son  and  Julia,  and  what  an  alarming  progress  their  at- 
tachment to  each  other  had  made.  He  saw  no  time 
was  to  be  lost,  so  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove  left  Hinder- 
mark  early  the  next  morning,  and  took  George  along 
with  them,  without  telling  any  body  whither  they  were 
gone. 


[327] 


CHAPTER    XXV 

Genevieve's  attachment  to  Julia — Julia  makes  Lady  Charlotte 
Orby  and  Genevieve  her  Confidants — Lord  Budemere 
communicates  the  Proposals  of  the  Hindermark  Family 
to  Lady  Charlotte. 

What  is  called  the  season  in  town  was  now  over, 
and  Mrs.  Decastro,  who  had  never  failed  to  make  good 
the  conditions  of  the  agreement  made  between  her  and 
Mr.  Decastro  on  their  first  arrival  at  the  castle,  was 
now  returned  to  it,  and  though  the  winter  was  but  that 
moment  out  of  the  sky  in  London,  she  found  summer 
in  it  by  the  time  she  got  to  the  castle,  notwithstanding 
she  had  travelled  into  the  north.  Whether  she  thought 
five  bodies  in  a  carriage  would  break  the  jolts  better 
than  two,  or,  if  they  happened  to  quarrel  there  might 
be  a  casting  voice,  or  when  there  are  more  in  a  coach 
folks  keep  one  another  warmer  than  when  there  are 
less,  or,  whatever  else  she  had  in  her  head,  she  brought 
Lord  and  Lady  Budemere  and  their  daughter  Lady 
Charlotte  Orby  back  with  her  and  her  niece  Gene- 
vieve to  Oaken  Grove. 

Genevieve,  it  may  be  recollected,  always  went  to 
town  with  her  aunt,  though  London  was  not  much  to 
her  liking,  but  her  father  gave  orders  on  his  death  bed 
that  she  should  be  made  a  woman  of  fashion.  So  her 
aunt  took  her  to  London  to  make  her  one,  and,  more- 
over, to  get  her  a  husband :  but  Genevieve  was  a  saucy 
jade,  and  boxed  every  man's  ears  that  made  her  an 
[328] 


QLtyt  history  of  99r.  3loljn  SDrcastro 

offer — saucy !  aye,  and  so  she  need  to  be,  or  such  a 
world  of  money  as  her  father  left  her  would  have  been 
thrown  away  upon  her,  and  that  would  have  been  a 
pity.  She,  and  her  cousin  Lady  Charlotte  Orby  were 
old  cronies,  bred  at  the  same  school,  and  great  friends, 
so  now  they  might  have  a  good  gossiping,  and  talk  over 
their  old  fun  when  they  were  school -girls  and  pinned 
the  teacher's  and  the  dancing  master's  tails  together. 

"Come,  Charlotte,"  said  she,  "let  us  walk  to  my 
uncle's  farm  and  see  our  cousin,  the  pretty  milk-maid." 

So  as  they  walked  through  a  beautiful  pasture  called 
Dairy-Mead,  they  met  Julia  with  her  milk-pail  on  her 
arm,  and  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 

"My  dear  Julia,"  said  Genevieve,  "what  are  you 
crying  for  ? " 

Upon  which  she  made  Lady  Charlotte  and  Genevieve 
her  confidants,  and  told  them  the  whole  story  of  her- 
self and  George  Grove.  Now  nothing  in  the  world 
pleases  girls  better  than  a  love  story,  no  matter  how 
sad  it  is.  Lady  Charlotte  and  Genevieve  stood  as  silent 
as  two  mice  till  they  heard  all,  and,  if  Julia  had  talked 
on,  would  have  stood  till  they  were  gray.  Poor  Julia ! 
how  the  tears  ran  down  into  her  bosom  while  she  told 
her  story !  As  soon  as  she  had  done  they  comforted 
her  all  they  could,  and  they  did  not  swear,  but  both 
bound  themselves  in  a  solemn  promise  to  get  George 
Grove  for  her  if  they  could.  Both  went  home  directly 
and  sat  down  and  wrote  two  hundred  letters.  Nothing 
on  the  face  of  the  earth  sets  a  woman's  ink  a-running 
like  love:  if  you  see  a  spot  of  ink  upon  the  tip  of  a 
woman's  middle  finger,  you  may  safely  swear  that 
either  she  is  in  love  herself,  or  some  of  her  friends. 

"Charlotte,"  said  Genevieve,  "did  not  Julia  say  that 
[329] 


tEtje  History  of  £0t.  3flotm  SDecastro 

George  Grove  was  to  be  forced  into  a  match  with  some 
lord's  daughter?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  but  I  cannot  think  who  that  can 
be,  now,  for  the  Groves  visit  so  many  noblemen's 
families  in  town : — surely  it  cannot  be  Lady  Louisa  P.  ?  " 

"  Write  to  her  at  a  venture,"  said  Genevieve,  "  but 
don't  forget  to  keep  Julia's  name  a  secret,  we  have 
promised  that  you  know:  say  every  thing  which  you 
can  think  of  to  set  her  against  the  match,  and  I  will 
write  to  her  father  and  her  mother,  her  uncle,  her  two 
aunts,  and  four  of  her  cousins,  and  do  the  same." 

And  thus  they  went  to  work  with  many  others,  but 
did  not  hit  upon  the  right  person  after  all. 

"  If  I  knew  who  she  was,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  I'd 
run  and  bite  her." 

"And  if  I  knew  who  she  was  I'd  go  and  scratch  her," 
said  Genevieve ;  and  so  they  ran  on  as  if  nothing  ill 
could  come  amiss  to  the  poor  lady  who  was  to  be  mar- 
ried to  George  Grove. 

"  He  is  a  very  fine  young  man,"  said  Lady  Charlotte, 
"and,  my  uncle  Bat  says,  bears  an  excellent  character 
at  Oxford — I  think  I  should  like  to  have  him  myself, 
Jenny." 

"  Surely  you  mean  if  our  pretty  cousin  were  out  of 
the  question  ?  "  said  Genevieve. 

"O  I  would  break  my  heart  twenty  times,  if  it  could 
be  mended  again,  sooner  than  take  him  from  Julia ! " 
said  her  ladyship. 

At  that  moment  a  servant  came  in  with  twenty  let- 
ters for  Lady  Charlotte,  and  five-and-thirty  for  Gene- 
vieve, with  a  note: — 

"  What  note's  that  ?  "  said  Lady  Charlotte. 

"  It  comes  from  Mr.  Grove's  house-keeper,  I  writ  to 
[33°  1 


Stje  history  of  Spr.  3f|olm  SDecastro 

her  to  ask  if  she  knew  where  the  family  were  gone — 
but  she  says  that  nobody  knows  anything  about  the 
matter."     So  they  fell  to  reading  their  letters. 

"O  dear  me!"  cries  Genevieve,  "Mrs.  Rosewood 
has  run  away  with  her  husband's  butler ! " 

"I  have  got  that,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "in  my  let- 
ter from  Lady  Q.  ..Well,  well,  well,  Miss  Scamper  is 
gone  off  with  Captain  Blunderbuss." 

"  I  have  got  that,"  said  Genevieve,  "  in  my  letter  from 
Lady  Mary  B." 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carrick  are  gone  abroad  and  left  their 
estate  in  a  cradle — at  nurse,  I  suppose,  Miss  H.  means, 
— a  miserable  jest ; — but  she  is  an  authoress,  and  may 
put  off  any  nonsense  for  wit." 

"  I  have  got  that  too,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  in  my 
letter  from  Mrs.  Gad,  who  tells  me  that  Lord  Ring- 
wood  has  broken  his  arm  a-hunting." 

"  I  have  it  '  neck,'  here,"  said  Genevieve,  "  in  my 
letter  from  Lady  Harriet  Z.,  who  says  that  Colonel 
Barret  left  England  fifty  thousand  pounds  in  debt." 

"No,  no,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "she  is  wrong,  her 
sister  says,  here,  in  her  letter,  forty  thousand  pounds: 

and  adds  that  our  pretty  cousin  Frederick  Decastro 
is  gone  with  him." 

"So  says  Lady  Harriet  Z.  in  her  letter  to  me." 

"  Well,  wherever  he  goes,  I  hope  he  will  go  into  that 
part  of  the  world  where  they  make  the  strongest  halt- 
ers ! "  said  Genevieve. 

"Bless  me,"  exclaims  Lady  Charlotte,  "what  a  piece 
of  news  I  have  got  to  tell  you;  Mr.  Christopher  Cocky, 
your  very  great  admirer,  has  married  a  woman  seven 
feet  high ! " 

"  I  was  just  reading  the  very  same  thing  in  my  letter 
[33i  ] 


Gtfje  tyi&toty  of  ty)x>  3flotm  H>rta0tro 

from  Mrs.  Bangam:  well,"  added  Genevieve,  "he  is 
five  feet  high  with  his  shoes  on ;  so  five  feet  put  to 
seven  feet  make  twelve  feet :  thus  matrimony  ties  up 
long  and  short  sticks  in  the  same  fagot." 

They  were  running  on,  each  telling  the  other  for 
news  what  both  had  in  their  own  letters,  when  Lord 
Budemere  came  into  the  room,  and,  taking  Lady  Char- 
lotte out  of  it,  spoke  as  follows : 

"Charlotte,"  said  he,  "you  may  remember  when 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove  were  with  us  at  the  Lodge,  that  I 
hinted  a  thing  to  you  concerning  a  nameless  person 
then  in  our  thoughts,  whom  you  took  to  be  Lord  George 
E.  I  had  a  little  reason  at  that  time  to  leave  you  in 
your  error." 

"  Error !  papa !  why,  did  not  Lord  George  E.  make 
his  proposals  to  me  within  a  few  days  after  ?  who  could 
you  mean,  if  not  Lord  George  ?  " 

"  Hear  me,"  said  his  lordship.  "  I  will  now  explain 
matters ;  you  were  easily  led  into  the  error,  for  Lord 
George  is  a  relation  of  Mr.  Grove's  as  well  as  another, 
whom  I  then  really  meant,  and  now  have  to  propose  to 
you,  since  both  his  lordship  and  Sir  Harry  St.  Clair 
have  been  refused." 

"  Surely,  papa,  you  cannot  mean  Mr.  George  Grove  ?  " 

"  His  father  and  I  have  had  a  little  correspondence 
of  late,  and  he  has  himself  made  his  proposals  to  us  for 
his  son.  I  made,  I  own,  a  little  advance  in  the  matter, 
enough  to  assure  him  that  George,  if  he  knocked  at  our 
doors,  would  not  be  bolted  out;  so  the  offer  comes 
very  well  from  them,  you  know,  since  we  are  not  quite 
on  the  right  side  of  the  question  to  begin  a  thing  of 
this  sort.  Mr.  George  Grove  will  have  a  much  larger 
fortune  than  either  the  baronet  or  his  lordship,  and  it 
[33*] 


<Li)t  Distort1  of  ty)t.  3|otjn  Drcastro 

is  by  far  the  best  offer  we  have  yet  had,  and  cannot  by 
any  means  be  refused.  I  shall  leave  the  matter  to  your 
consideration,  and  look  for  your  answer  in  a  day  or 
two:"  saying  which,  his  lordship  took  his  leave;  and 
Lady  Charlotte  returned  to  her  cousin  Genevieve,  who 
immediately  took  notice  that  she  went  out  of  the  room 
with  one  face  and  came  into  it  with  another.  Lady 
Charlotte  laughed  it  off,  however,  when  they  again  fell 
to  their  letters,  and  nothing  more  was  said  about  the 
said  change  of  countenance  at  that  time. 

Now  Lady  Charlotte  had  a  mind  to  George  Grove 
herself,  but  how  to  get  him  at  once,  and  keep  her 
promises  with  her  cousins,  perplexed  her  not  a  little. 
And  well  it  might,  for  if  the  thing  were  not  an  impos- 
sibility, it  was  within  a  very  little  of  it:  see  what  comes 
of  making  ras"h  promises. 


[333] 


CHAPTER    XXVI 

A  young  Farmer  pays  his  addresses  to  Julia — A  great  Up- 
roar at  Old  Crab's  Farm — Old  Comical  takes  the  pen, 
after  a  few  drops  of  ink  from  the  Solid  Gentleman. 

Old  Crab  took  Julia  into  his  study,  as  soon  as  she 
was  well  recovered  from  her  fainting  fit,  and  preached 
her  a  sermon  upon  telling  of  lies  which  held  her  two 
hours.  He  told  her  that  the  devil  was  the  father  of 
them,  and  if  she  conceived  them,  and  brought  them 
forth,  she  must  needs  be  the  devil's  wife.  Poor  Julia, 
who  had  rather  be  George  Grove's  wife  a  great  deal, 
sobbed  and  cried,  begged  pardon  upon  her  knees,  poor 
girl,  and  said,  "  that  she  was  very  sorry  for  what  she 
had  done."  Upon  which  Old  Crab  forgave  her,  and, 
taking  her  upon  his  knee,  told  her  that  she  must  think 
no  more  of  George  Grove.  It  is  one  thing  to  give 
orders,  and  another  to  get  a  thing  done :  to  unthink  a 
thing  which  she  had  been  so  long  a-thinking  on  was  no 
such  easy  matter.  A  heart  once  lost  is  a  thing  not  so 
easily  found  again,  and  Julia,  poor  girl,  might  have 
looked  long  enough  before  she  had  found  her's,  though 
she  knew  very  well  who  had  it  all  the  while.  She  had 
like  to  have  told  another  fib  though,  and  said,  "  Indeed, 
papa,  I  will  think  no  more  of  Mr.  George  Grove,"  when 
she  thought  of  nothing  else  all  day  long,  and  dreamed 
of  nothing  else  all  night.  However,  he  luckily  inter- 
rupted her,  but  it  was  with  very  unwelcome  news,  and 
so  far  not  very  lucky  indeed. 
[334] 


Wqi  history  of  90u  31oljn  SDccastro 

''Come,  come,"  said  Old  Crab,  "dry  up  your  tears 
and  I  will  find  a  husband  for  you,  one  more  suitable  to 
a  poor  wench  in  your  condition,  than  a  man  of  twenty 
or  thirty  thousand  a  year." 

John  Cartland  was  then  named  to  her,  son  of  Farmer 
Cartland  of  Broad  Oak.  This  young  man  had  been  in 
love  with  her  a  great  while,  but  hearing  what  a  great 
man  Julia  had  got  for  her  sweetheart,  thought  his 
chances  were  very  small,  so  he  kept  himself  at  a  dis- 
tance and  put  up  with  his  heart-ache  as  well  as  he 
could.  When  Old  Crab  named  him  to  her,  she  said 
"  that  he  had  some  time  since  sent  her  a  letter,  but  she 
told  him  that  she  was  very  sorry,  but  had  got  a  sweet- 
heart already." 

"You  are  a  slut  for  not  telling  us,"  quoth  Old  Crab; 
"but  go  this  moment  and  get  yourself  ready  to  see 
him,  he  will  be  here  presently." 

So  glad  was  the  young  farmer,  that  he  set  out  before 
all  the  family,  who  were  engaged  that  day  to  dine  with 
Old  Crab,  and  came  first  to  make  a  little  love  before 
dinner.  As  soon  as  her  father  had  done  with  her, 
Julia's  mother  took  her  aside  to  tell  her  how  she  was 
to  behave  to  Mr.  John  Cartland. 

"Julia,"  said  she,  "you  are  grown  to  be  so  fine  a  lady 
by  being  so  much  with  these  fine  folks  at  the  castle, 
and  have  taken  such  an  air  from  Mr.  George  Grove's 
company,  that  I  am  afraid  the  young  farmer  will  think 
you  too  proud;  but  you  ought  to  remember  that,  al- 
though we  have  such  good  relations,  we  are  poor  peo- 
ple ourselves,  and  must  not  give  ourselves  any  airs.  I 
don't  mean  to  say  that  you  are  a  proud  girl,  Julia,  be- 
cause indeed  I  don't  think  that  you  are  so,  but  you 
must  be  particularly  careful  in  this  matter,  for,  having 
[  335  ] 


tEtje  $?t0tot£  of  $$v.  3flotm  SDrcastto 

been  so  much  of  late  among  lords  and  ladies,  you  may 
appear  to  be  so  without  meaning  it,  and  frighten  a 
plain  man." 

"Indeed,  mamma,"  said  Julia,  "I  should  be  sorry  to 
be  thought  proud,  and  will  do  the  best  I  can  to  receive 
Mr.  Cartland  in  a  civil  manner :  but,  my  dear  mamma, 
beg  a  little  time  for  me  to  try  to  forget  somebody — and 
I  will  strive  to  do  my  best  to  come  into  your  and  my 
papa's  wishes." 

"  You  were  always  a  very  good  girl,  Julia,"  said  Mrs 
B.  Decastro — "  but  here  is  the  young  farmer." 

And  indeed  Master  John  rode  up  at  that  moment  to 
the  gate,  in  a  suit  of  bright  peach-colour  cloth  made  on 
purpose  for  the  day ;  for  Old  Crab  had  bid  the  good 
farmer  put  a  new  suit  of  clothes  upon  his  son  John, 
and  teach  him  to  make  a  bow:  upon  which  Master 
John  put  his  best  leg  foremost,  and,  having  entered  a 
new  suit  of  clothes  of  a  bright  peach-colour,  as  afore- 
said, came  down  from  Broad  Oak  as  bright  as  a  star,  to 
pay  his  addresses  to  Julia.  Poor  Julia,  who  had  been 
so  long  used  to  the  elegant  dress  and  manners  of  George 
Grove,  upon  the  entrance  of  Master  John  had  much 
ado  to  help  laughing.  Master  John  was  a  short  man, 
but  no  ill  figure  if  the  tailor  had  let  him  alone,  but 
Master  Snip  had  so  stitched  him  up  in  some  places 
and  let  him  loose  in  others,  that  he  had  anything  rather 
than  human  proportions  about  him;  and  not  being 
used  to  be  so  very  fine  made  matters  a  great  deal  worse. 

Master  John,  however,  notwithstanding  his  epileptic 
fit  at  the  sight  of  Julia,  did  as  his  father  bade  him,  and 
made  a  bow,  or  a  thing  which  he  thought  the  most  like 
one,  and  left  a  long  scrawl  of  dirt  on  the  floor  as  a  proof 
of  it.     Old  Comical  gave  him  a  touch  behind  to  put 


Ctje  $?istor£  of  $)r»  31oljn  a^ccastro 

him  in  mind  to  pull  his  hat  off,  but  it  was  no  easy  mat- 
ter, for  it  was  a  new  one  bought  on  purpose  for  the 
day,  and  however  the  young  farmer  got  his  head  into 
it,  it  was  not  very  soon  to  be  got  out  again ;  but  Old 
Comical  laying  hold  behind  and  Master  John  laying 
hold  before,  they  pulled  off  his  hat  between  them.  So 
now  he  stood  before  his  sweetheart  with  his  hat  in  one 
hand,  and  a  stiff  hazel  staff,  with  Cupid  a-shooting 
carved  upon  the  knob  of  it,  in  the  other,  but  could  not 
speak  a  loud  word  for  his  heart. 

Mrs.  B.  Decastro,  seeing  the  young  man  a  little  bash- 
ful before  company,  went  out  of  the  room,  and,  shut- 
ting the  door,  left  Julia  and  Farmer  John  together.— 
What  a  sad  thing  it  is  to  be  frightened  !  It  now  came 
into  Master  John's  head  that  it  would  be  polite  to  get 
Julia  a  chair,  a  good  thought,  but  it  brought  an  accident 
with  it,  for  the  farmer,  coming  with  the  chair  in  one 
hand  and  his  hat  and  cudgel  in  the  other,  the  said 
cudgel  got  between  his  legs  and  threw  him  and  the 
chair  both  down  together  at  Julia's  feet,  where  the  staff 
would  needs  have  it  a  lover  ought  to  lie.  Julia  came 
to  his  assistance  and  took  the  cudgel  away  from  him, 
for  he  still  held  it  fast  in  his  hand,  and  got  Master  John 
upon  his  legs,  which  was  some  trouble,  for  he  had  got 
a  new  pair  of  leather  breeches  on,  made  so  tight  that  he 
had  scarce  any  more  use  of  his  limbs  than  if  half  of 
them  had  been  struck  with  the  palsy.  She  set  up  the 
chair,  put  the  farmer  on  his  way  to  it,  and  said,  she 
hoped  that  he  had  not  taken  any  hurt  in  his  fall. 

When  a  man's  hand  is  in,  it  is  amazing  how  many 

blunders  he  makes ! — In  the  next  place  Master  John 

must  needs  put  his  hat  upon  a  chair  and  sit  down  upon 

it,  which,  being  a  new  beaver  and  exceeding  stiff,  was 

22  [337] 


(Etje  $?i8'totE  of  $pt\  3|oljn  SDrcastro 

not  in  the  humour  to  give  way  to  Master  John's  press- 
ure, but,  as  if  to  be  revenged  for  the  indignity,  mounted 
him  up  in  a  very  ridiculous  manner ;  however,  he  made 
a  straddle  of  it  and  took  the  crown  thereof  very  well 
between  his  knees,  the  tightness  of  his  breeches  not- 
withstanding, and  was  very  safely  seated  if  he  could 
have  sat  still.  Julia,  seeing  him  to  be  in  no  little  con- 
fusion, asked  him  how  all  the  family  did  at  Broad  Oak 
Farm,  how  corn  sold,  whether  they  had  begun  hay- 
making, and  other  the  like  questions,  and  among  other 
things  admired  the  quaint  devices  carved  on  the  head  of 
the  young  farmer's  staff  which  she  held  in  her  hand; 
and,  though  he  might  have  trusted  her  with  the  cudgel 
very  safely,  yet  he  seemed  to  think  that  he  might  as 
well  get  possession  of  it,  he  took  it  from  her,  therefore, 
for  she  sat  near  him,  and  laid  it  at  its  length  at  his  foot 
on  the  floor; — in  an  evil  hour,  as  will  be  seen. 

Farmer  John  sat,  reader,  upon  an  old-fashioned  long- 
backed  chair  with  very  short  heels,  and  the  more  likely 
on  that  account  to  fall  backwards.  His  hat  between 
his  knees  stretched  as  far  apart  as  his  tight  breeches 
would  allow  to  admit  the  crown  of  it,  and  his  hazel  staff 
extended  at  his  foot  on  the  floor,  when  Old  Comical, 
not  recollecting  the  room  to  be  full  of  the  tender  pas- 
sion, came  in  on  a  sudden  to  fetch  Old  Crab's  best  wig, 
that  hung  upon  a  candle-stick  on  the  mantle-piece,  in 
order  to  repair  the  same,  being  a  hand  at  a  wig,  and 
put  it  in  buckle  for  dinner.  The  door  being  opened 
on  a  sudden  made  the  young  farmer  start,  for,  being  in 
a  fright  already,  he  the  more  readily  gave  way  to  fresh 
surprises,  and,  in  an  attempt  to  jump  up,  put  his  foot 
upon  his  cudgel,  which,  as  he  thought,  he  had  now  laid 
out  of  his  way.  Being  a  round  thing,  the  cudgel  made 
[338] 


fElje  Distort"  of  £0v.  31otjn  Drcastro 

a  sort  of  rolling  motion  upon  its  being  trod  on,  and 
threw  Master  John  with  some  force  against  the  back 
of  the  chair,  which,  put  thereby  past  its  balance,  came 
down  backwards,  and  brought  John  Cartland  along 
with  it  to  the  floor  with  his  boots  in  the  air. 

Old  Comical,  who  loved  a  joke  dearly,  but  never  made 
jest  of  a  man  in  distress,  clapt  Old  Crab's  best  wig  on 
his  head  upon  his  own,  and  was  running  to  help  the 
young  farmer,  when  in  came  Julia's  mother  in  great 
haste  upon  hearing  a  noise  which  shook  the  homestall. 
Conceiving  John  to  be  taking  more  liberties  with  Julia 
than  came  to  his  share  on  a  first  visit — but  nothing  at 
that  time  was  so  far  from  his  thoughts — she  found 
him  lying  on  his  back,  and  stunned  with  his  fall.  He 
presently  came  to  his  senses,  for  having  cut  his  head 
against  the  window  seat,  a  flow  of  blood  soon  relieved 
him. 

Old  Comical  now  ran  up-stairs  and  brought  down 
his  best  night-cap,  gayly  adorned  with  three  horizontal 
stripes  of  different  colours,  and  a  large  tassel,  like  an 
artichoke,  upon  the  crown  thereof,  and,  after  some  soft 
linen  and  a  few  drops  of  Friar's  balsam  had  been  ad- 
ministered by  Julia's  fair  hands  to  the  wound,  put  the 
cap  upon  Master  Cartland's  head,  and  bound  it  on 
with  one  of  his  own  garters ;  then,  giving  Old  Crab's 
wig  some  masterly  touches,  ran  out  to  take  old  Farmer 
Cartland's  horse  that  had  drawn  all  the  rest  of  the 
family  from  Broad  Oak.  After  a  little  talk  about  the 
accident,  they  all  sat  down  to  dinner,  and  Old  Comical 
waited  upon  the  company. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  after  the  boiled  beef  and  cab- 
bage, the  ham  and  the  fowls  were  removed,  and  the 
wine,  punch,  pipes,  and  strong  beer  put  upon  the  table, 
[339] 


Stjc  toistotp  of  spr.  3(1  otm  SDfta0tt:o 

"Look  ye,  Master  Cartland,"  quote  Old  Crab,  "we 
will  have  no  forcing  and  driving  in  this  business,  we 
shall  be  glad  to  see  your  son  at  a  leisure  hour  at  the 
farm,  and  if  he  and  my  wench  can  agree  we'll  have  a 
wedding " 

"  And  if  so  be  that  they  cannot,"  interrupted  the  old 
farmer,  "why,  there's  no  harm  done." 

"  I  loves  Miss  Julee  rarely  well,"  quoth  Madam  Cart- 
land,  "  and  if  as  why  she  can  get  the  better  of  her  heart 
and  hankerings,  for  I  have  been  told  that  the  Squire 
don't  care  for  a  match  betwixt  her  and  his  son,  why,  as 
I  says,  I  hopes  as  how  my  son  John,  heaven  bless  him, 
may  be  her  man  after  all,  but  yet,  as  why,  as  I  says,  I 
ba'nt  for  cramming  force-meat  into  her  mouth  whether 
she  wool  or  no." 

"Well,  well,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "we  shall  see  how 
matters  will  be;  you  and  I  understand  one  another, 
Master  Cartland,  Bullocks-Hatch  and  the  water-meads 
come  with  your  son,  if  the  thing  take  place,  and  three 
thousand  pounds  go  with  my  wench.  But  the  home- 
stall  must  be  repaired  at  your  expense,  I  insist  upon 
that,  and  I  will  keep  the  young  folks  until  the  farm- 
house be  got  ready  for  them." 

"  Look  you,  Master  Decastro,"  quoth  the  old  farmer, 
"  you  must  bear  me  half  in  that  matter,  it  will  cost  me 
three  hundred  pounds." 

"  Not  a  penny,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "  I  have  put  five 
hundred  pounds  to  my  wench's  fortune  in  order  to  take 
a  step  toward  you,  Master  Cartland,  so  now  it  is  your 
turn  to  take  a  step  toward  me." 

"Come,  come,"  quoth  the  old  farmer,  "you  will  build 
a  cow-house  ? " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

[34o  J 


3>ljr  MtftotE  of  fflt.  3|olm  SDfcagtto 

"  A  cart-house  ?  " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  A  fatting  hog-stye  ? " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Find  me  tiles  for  the  wheat-barn  ?  " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Be  something  towards  the  furniture  ?  " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  What,  not  a  bed  ?  " 

"  No,"  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  Come,"  said  Mrs.  B.  Decastro,  "  I  have  feathers 
enough  by  me  to  make  a  bed,  if  my  husband  will  allow 
me  to  make  a  little  offer  on  my  part." 

"Well,  well,"  quoth  Old  Crab,  "I  sha'nt  stick  out 
for  a  few  feathers,  give  us  your  hand,  Master  Cartland, 
if  'tis  a  bargain." 

Upon  which  Old  Crab  and  the  old  farmer  shook 
hands. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  news  of  this  grand 
dinner,  and  the  cause  of  it  had  reached  the  castle,  and 
excited  no  little  curiosity  in  the  party  there  to  see 
Julia's  new  lover.  The  Earl  and  Countess  of  Budemere 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  ordered  their  carriages  to 
be  got  ready,  and,  taking  Lady  Charlotte  Orby  and 
Genevieve  along  with  them,  they  sallied  forth  in  two 
coaches  and  four,  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  farm  in  the 
evening. — Well,  up  they  came  all  on  a  sudden  to  Old 
Crab's  door  upon  a  full  gallop,  and  threw  old  Farmer 
Cartland  and  all  his  family  into  the  greatest  consterna- 
tion !— The  old  farmer  jumped  up,  and  laid  hold  on  his 
hat,  and  called  for  his  cart  and  his  old  wig,  for  it  had 
rained,  and  his  best  might  be  spoiled,  so  he  had  brought 
two  in  case  of  accidents,  one  on  his  head  and  another 
[34i] 


W)t  history  of  fflt,  3f|oljn  2Deca$tro 

in  his  pocket — Madam  Cartlancl  also  jumped  up,  and 
up  jumped  her  six  daughters,  who  were  all  very  fat 
and  therefore  made  the  greater  crowd  in  a  little  room, 
and  fell  into  a  great  pucker,  getting  into  one  another's 
way,  and  running  one  against  another  in  scrambling 
for  hats,  cloaks,  and  bonnets ! 

Old  Crab,  do  or  say  what  he  might,  could  not  quiet 
the  waters,  so  he  leaned  with  both  his  hands  and  with 
all  his  might  upon  the  table,  and  it  was  as  much  as  ever 
he  could  do  to  keep  it  from  being  overturned  two  or 
three  times  during  the  great  push.  Julia  and  Mrs.  B. 
Decastro  ran  out  first  to  receive  the  great  folks  and 
put  them  all  very  safely  into  her  little  parlor,  wherein 
Old  Comical  had  set  the  tea  things  and  the  bread  and 
butter  all  in  order,  before  he  went  out  to  feed  the  pigs. 
Mrs.  B.  Decastro  now,  leaving  Julia  the  mistress  of  the 
ceremonies,  returned  to  the  dining-room  in  order  to 
pacify  the  terrified  souls  whom  she  had  left  in  it.  She 
found  them  in  a  great  bustle,  and  in  as  much  haste  to 
make  their  escape  as  if  the  fine  folks  whom  they  saw 
come  out  of  the  carriages  ate  human  flesh.  The  main 
push  was  now  towards  the  back  kitchen  door,  at  which 
the  old  farmer  first  arrived,  by  main  force  driving  his 
way  through  his  wife  and  his  six  fat  daughters.  Old 
Dragon,  the  cart-horse,  was  harnessed  in  a  moment, 
the  cart  brought  up  to  the  said  back  door,  and  loaded 
in  a  trice  with  the  farmer  and  his  family ;  upon  which 
Master  Cartland  laid  his  cudgel  upon  old  Dragon's 
bones,  who  was  forced  to  drag  his  amazing  load  over 
all  the  dunghills  to  get  the  nearest  way  out  of  the  farm- 
yard ! — Old  Comical  stood  by  and  held  his  sides  with 
laughter. 

Genevieve  and  Lady  Charlotte  felt  the  greatest 
[342] 


tElje  ^t0tot*f  of  fflv.  3|ol)n  SDrcastro 

curiosity  of  any  to  see  the  young  farmer,  but  Old  Cart- 
land  had  made  such  a  sudden  start  of  it  that  they  had 
like  to  be  thrown  out  at  last  but  for  a  piece  of  bright 
scarlet  riband  which  adorned  old  Dragon's  bit-halter, 
which  said  bit  of  finery  caught  Lady  Charlotte's  at- 
tention as  Old  Comical  led  the  sturdy  animal  across 
the  farm-yard.  This  had  been  Dolly  Cartland's  doing, 
who  felt  a  little  tenderness  for  her  father's  carter,  and 
must  needs  rob  her  own  head  to  deck  old  Dragon's, 
who  was  a  favourite  in  the  stable. 

"I  am  sure  they  are  going,"  cries  her  ladyship;  upon 
which,  as  upon  a  view  halloo,  Genevieve  and  she  darted 
away,  and  taking  the  nearest  cut,  like  sportsmen  when 
the  game  is  up,  leaped  over  some  pales  and  ran  directly 
through  Old  Crab's  fatting  hog-stye.  Old  Comical, 
who  had  just  carried  the  tea,  toast,  and  the  bread  and 
butter  into  the  little  parlor,  and  was  gone  out  to  feed 
the  hogs,  whose  turn  it  was  to  be  served  next,  seeing 
Lady  Charlotte  and  Genevieve  leap  flying  into  the  hog- 
stye,  was  turned  into  a  post.  Away  they  ran,  dashing 
through  thick  and  thin,  and  out  they  leaped  again  at 
right  angles,  driving  their  way  through  forty  fat  hogs 
that  stood  and  stared  like  stuck  pigs.  Now  old  Dragon 
had  just  tugged  twenty  hundred  weight  of  human  flesh 
and  bones  over  all  the  dunghills  in  Old  Crab's  farm- 
yard, and  got  upon  hard  gravel  outside  the  gate  with 
old  Farmer  Cartland  and  his  jolly  family,  when  the 
beast  made  a  full  stop  to  get  a  little  wind,  &c.  This 
gave  Genevieve  and  Lady  Charlotte  the  advantage,  who 
ran  up  to  the  cart  and  beheld,  to  their  great  satisfaction, 
Julia's  lover  sitting  on  his  mother's  lap,  crowned  with 
Old  Comical's  striped  nightcap.  Old  Master  Cartland, 
seeing  company  come,  put  old  Dragon  to  the  cudgel 
[343] 


Wqt  Hjtetotv  of  Spr.  3fiotm  HDecatftto 

with  all  his  might,  who  made  the  best  of  his  way  to 
the  cart-horse  stable,  at  Broad-Oak. 

When  a  chase  is  over,  folks  have  leisure  to  grow 
cool,  and  come  a  little  to  their  senses,  for  sportsmen 
are  little  other  than  stark  mad  when  they  are  a-run- 
ning.  Just  so  it  happened  to  Lady  Charlotte  and 
Genevieve,  who  now  came  to  theirs,  and  by  the  help 
of  their  eyes  and  their  noses,  both  saw  and  smelt  what 
a  nasty  pickle  they  were  in :  in  the  mind  they  were  it 
were  odds  but  they  had  dashed  through  a  horse-pond 
to  have  satisfied  their  curiosities.  Old  Comical  followed 
them  at  a  great  distance  with  a  hog-pail  full  of  clean 
water  in  one  hand,  and  a  wisp  of  sweet  hay  in  the  other, 
to  wash  the  ladies'  shoes  and  wipe  their  silk  stockings. 


[344] 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

Some  few  matters  touching  Genevieve  brought  up  to  the 
present  time — Lady  Charlotte  informs  her  of  the  Pro- 
posals of  the  Hindermark  Family — Further  Accounts 
of  Julia — Acerbus  the  Philosopher  comes  home  from  the 
long  Vacation — Genevieve  discovers  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Grove  are  at  Bath,  and  follows  them  to  that  place. — 
Old  Comical  fast  asleep — starts  tip,  however,  at  the  tail 
of  the  Chapter. 

Genevieve  had  some  time  since  been  mistress  of 
her  vast  fortune,  which,  what  with  the  accumulated 
interest,  the  purchase  of  the  estate  in  Berkshire,  and 
other  additions  taken  into  the  account,  was  upwards 
of  six  thousand  pounds  a-year : — a  great  deal  of  money 
and  it  may  be  a  matter  of  wonder  what  she  could  do 
with  it  all  ?  Old  Crab,  it  may  be  remembered,  was 
made  her  guardian  by  her  father  the  Jew,  and  her 
property  was  all  put  into  his  hands  for  her,  where  it 
was  not  very  likely  to  grow  less ;  the  fact,  indeed,  was 
that  it  grew  a  great  deal  bigger,  for  there  were  few 
such  stewards  to  be  met  with  as  he.  She  was  now  be- 
come mistress  of  all,  and,  as  power  accompanies  money, 
she  was  become,  indeed,  a  personage  of  no  small  con- 
sideration. Having  lost  her  parents  before  she  knew 
what  it  was  to  have  any,  as  a  man  who  hath  no  children 
divides  his  estate  between  a  few  choice  relations,  she 
disposed  of  her  love  between  those  of  her's  who  lived 
at  the  castle  and  the  farm,  her  cousin  Lady  Charlotte 

[345] 


St)e  fyi&toty  of  $$t.  ^loljn  EDrcastro 

Orby  too  coming  in  for  a  good  share  of  it.  In  her 
affections  she  was  extremely  ardent,  so  much  so  as  not 
to  stick  at  a  fault  to  serve  one  whom  she  loved.  When 
she  came  into  the  possession  of  the  fine  property  which 
her  father  had  left  her,  she  bought  a  piece  of  land  on 
the  opposite  shore  of  the  lake,  which  commanded  a 
noble  view  of  that  fine  old  pile  of  architecture,  the 
castle,  and  built  thereon  a  pretty  cottage,  wherein  she 
put  her  old  nurse  who  came  to  England  with  her,  and 
made  the  good  old  woman  an  allowance  of  one  hundred 
pounds  a-year  for  her  life.  Although  she,  for  the  most 
part,  resided  at  the  castle,  yet  she  had  at  this  cottage, 
in  which  she  kept  a  few  rooms  very  elegantly  fitted  up 
and  furnished  for  the  use  of  herself  and  her  friends, 
formed  a  sort  of  establishment,  keeping  her  carriage 
there,  and  two  or  three  servants  as  need  were.  She 
was  charitable  to  the  poor,  and  did  a  great  many  good 
offices  to  her  neighbours,  but,  after  all,  did  not  spend 
half  her  income,  which  Old  Crab,  still  her  trusty 
steward,  paid  into  her  banker's  hands  once  a-year, 
when  he  went  to  London  on  that  and  a  variety  of  other 
business.  Genevieve  was  one  of  those  who  could  not 
exist  without  being  eager  in  some  pursuit.  The  coun- 
try was  her  delight,  and  farming  the  greatest  in  it,  so 
much  so  that  she  took  an  active  part  in  it,  and  worked 
as  hard  as  any  poor  woman  for  her  bread,  and  ate  her's 
too  with  as  good  an  appetite  as  a  hay-maker,  and,  when 
love  let  her  lie  quiet,  slept  as  sound  as  a  ploughman. 
It  may  be  a  thing  which  some,  perhaps,  will  not  be 
pleased  to  believe,  that  a  young  woman,  bred  in  all  the 
elegancies  of  high  and  polished  life,  should  take  a  fork, 
a  rake,  a  hoe,  or  a  reap-hook,  and  work  like  a  poor  girl 
in  all  weathers ;  such,  however,  was  Genevieve,  and  to 
[346] 


tEtje  fyimty  of  ^r,  31ot)n  EDecastro 

this  it  may  be,  perhaps,  attributed  that  she  never  knew 
a  day's  illness. 

As  soon  as  the  Earl  of  Budemere  had  made  known 
to  his  daughter  trie  proposals  of  the  Hindermark  family, 
Lady  Charlotte,  as  it  was  her  custom  when  any  serious 
matter  befell,  ran  up  stairs  and  locked  herself  into  her 
apartment,  and  began  to  pace  backwards  and  forwards 
in  it,  setting  tables,  chairs,  and  other  utensils  out  of 
her  way  for  that  purpose,  and  fell  into  a  deep  muse 
upon  what  her  noble  father  had  communicated.  George 
Grove,  a  young  man  of  great  elegance  and  excellence, 
had  long  been  her  favourite,  and,  although  she  had 
gone  at  times  so  far  as  to  give  him  a  glance  with  her 
bright  eyes  very  full  of  meaning,  yet  she  had  received 
nothing  of  that  sort  in  return,  which  would  have  been 
the  most  agreeable  to  her.  Proposals  were  now  actu- 
ally made  in  form,  and  she  saw  that  she  might  have 
George  if  she  pleased ;  but  the  sweet  milkmaid  stood 
in  her  way.  What  was  to  be  done,  after  walking  four 
or  five  miles  in  her  bed-room  to  consider,  she  could  not 
tell.  Taking  Genevieve  into  a  little  summer-house  on 
the  margin  of  the  lake : 

"I  have,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "a  great  piece  of 
news  to  tell  you,  Jenny,  I  have  found  out  who  the  lady 
is  at  last  that  will  have  George  Grove." 

"  My  dear  Charlotte,  who  in  the  world  can  she  be  ? " 

"  Could  you  have  guessed  it  ? — it  is  even  I." 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  came  you  to  know 
this  ? " 

"  My  father  came  to  me  with  proposals  from  the 
Hindermark  family  no  longer  since  than  yesterday.  " 

"  But  Julia  is  going  mad — she  weeps  night  and  day 
— you  never  can  think  of — — " 
[347] 


HSfyt  $?i0torp  of  3pr.  3f|olm  SDccatftro 

"  Think  of  what,  Jenny  ?  " 

"  Think  of  what ! — why,  you  must  know  what  I  would 
say — think  of  having  of  him." 

"  Come,  Jenny,  don't  reckon  too  much  upon  me ;  such 
a  young  man  as  George  Grove  in  these  days  is  not 
everywhere  to  be  had.  I  love  him  a  great  deal  more 
than  you  think,  and  have  less  mind  to  refuse  him  than 
you  imagine:  yet,  I  will  "not  have  him  if  I  can  help  it, 
but  will  certainly  have  him  if  I  can  get  him  if  Julia 
cannot  choose  but  leave  him." 

"  I  am  very  well  pleased  with  your  exception,  and 
hope  there  is  as  little  danger  as  I  am  willing  to  think 
in  giving  you  credit  for  it. — I  have  every  reason  to  sup- 
pose that  my  friendship  is  very  dear  to  you,  and  if  you 
were  really  attached  to  Mr.  Grove,  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  imagine  that  you  would  run  it  into  any  such 
danger  as  to  own  it  to  my  face,  Charlotte :  but,  unless 
Julia  was  dead  and  buried,  I  think  I  could  never  forgive 
you  if  you  were  to  marry  Mr.  Grove." 

"  My  dear  Jenny !  this  is  too  hard  upon  me:  just  as 
if  Mr.  Grove  might  not  be  forced  on  me  in  a  way  which 
it  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  escape !  It  is  an  easy 
thing  to  talk,  but  when  we  come  to  the  push  of  a  thing 
to  parry  it  is  another  matter.  When  fathers,  mothers, 
and  friends  come  armed  in  a  close  body  against  one — 
one  poor,  defenceless  girl,  what  can  she  do  ?  nay,  if  she 
had  the  mighty  spirit  of  the  most  spirited,  how  could 
she  bear  herself  out  against  all  her  relations  ?  I  know 
George  Grove  thinks  me  very  handsome,  for  he  put 
in  the  very  when  he  spoke  of  me  one  day  to  my  mother ; 
consider,  should  he  be  brought  over  by  what  he  calls 
my  beauty,  and  court  me,  and  I  in  love  with  him  too — 
think  on  such  an  aggravated  case,  Jenny." 

[348] 


Ctje  History  of  $0v.  J\oty\  ©rcastro 

"  Yon  are  a  very  comical  girl,  Charlotte ;  and  I  scarce 
know  what  to  make  of  you." 

"At  all  events,  this  I  will  faithfully  promise  you — 
Love  George  or  not  love  him,  I  love  Julia  so  sincerely 
that  I  will  most  certainly  make  my  escape  if  I  can ;  but 
I  still  stick  to  this,  if  Julia  cannot  have  him,  I  will;  for 
that  may  happen  and  Julia  still  be  above  ground." 

"If  you  are  really  and  truly  Julia's  rival,"  concluded 
Genevieve,  "all  things  else  considered,  I  must  say  that 
I  think  Julia  is  in  great  danger — do  come  this  way  and 
look  at  this  poor  girl — see,  there  she  is,  walking  by  the 
side  of  the  water,  crying  as  if  her  heart  was  breaking ! 
—Remember,  Charlotte,  I  bind  you  in  a  recognisance 
to  the  whole  amount  of  my  friendship  that  you  exert 
every  power  to  escape  this  match — but  come,  let  us  go 
and  comfort  poor  Julia." 

And,  poor  girl,  she  was  much  in  want  of  comfort,  for 
when  they  came  to  her  she  had  thrown  herself  on  the 
grass  in  a  fit  of  sorrow,  and  was  bathing  in  her  tears  a 
miniature  picture  which  George  had  given  her  of  him- 
self, and  some  of  his  letters.  One,  which  she  had  just 
received,  was  as  follows : 

My  dearest  Julia:  It  looks  a  little  oddly  for  one 
whose  eyes  are  blind  and  dim  with  tears,  to  counsel 
another  not  to  weep ;  but  yet,  my  Julia,  strive  for  your- 
self and  for  me,  for  my  life  is  woven  so  with  yours, 
that  whatever  cuts  your  thread  in  twain  cuts  mine  too : 
think  of  this,  for  I  know  my  welfare  will  be  the  strong- 
est argument  with  you  to  take  every  care  of  your  own. 
We  must  resign  ourselves  to  his  will  who  made  us 
and  all  the  world ;  we  must  take  what  he  gives  and  be 
thankful :  yes,  my  love,  even  our  misfortunes  too ;  for 
they  make  us  his  soldiers  who  tells  us  that  we  are  sent 
into  this  world  to  fight  against  troubles,  and  contest 

[349] 


tEtje  piston?  of  Spr.  31otjn  SDrcastro 

the  matter  with  every  calamity  which  assails  us.  Lay 
this  my  letter,  where  I  am  sure,  happy  letter,  it  will  be, 
lay  this  my  letter  to  your  tender  bosom,  my  dearest 
girl,  I  do  not  mean  the  poor  paper  only,  but  the  advice 
which  it  contains :  for  heaven's  sake  let  us  do  our  duty, 
and  then  we  need  not  fear  but  if  we  cannot  meet  and 
be  happy  in  this  world,  we  are  sure  to  meet  and  be 
eternally  happy  in  a  better.  How  far  the  commands 
of  our  parents  may  extend  over  us  their  children,  I  own 
I  cannot  say,  and  if  I  could,  perhaps  it  would  very  little 
become  me  to  do  it;  but  I  have  resigned  myself  to 
mine,  and  think  it  to  be  my  duty  to  obey  them :  if  it 
be  not  the  will  of  heaven  that  we  should  be  united, 
unite  at  least  with  me  in  prayer,  and  say  to  heaven, 
"Thy  will  be  done."  I  hope  and  pray  that  the  motives 
of  my  parents  are  good  ones ;  the  lady  to  whom  I  shall 
be  joined  has  not  been  as  yet  so  much  as  named  to  me; 
all  I  have  been  told  is  that  she  is  rich,  has  a  title,  and 
beauty.  My  heart,  my  Julia,  will  be  ever  yours,  and 
whosoever  takes  this  poor  body  without  a  heart  in  it, 
will  have  but  little  cause  to  be  proud  of  the  bargain. 
At  my  first  interview  with  this  lady  she  shall  be  sure 
to  have  my  story  fairly  told  her,  yes,  at  full  length ;  I 
shall  honestly  tell  her  that  I  will  put  off  no  damaged 
goods  upon  her,  for  such  a  husband  without  a  heart 
must  needs  be,  and  the  worst  of  damaged  goods  too ; 
for  what  can  she  expect,  what  can  her  friends  expect 
of  a  man  whose  affections  are  engaged  to  another  ?  I 
shall  fairly  and  honestly  bid  them  look  to  what  they 
do,  and  what  sacrifice  they  may  please  to  make  of  a 
child,  who  must  needs  marry  me  and  all  my  sorrows 
together. 

But  I  must  return  to  my  most  beloved  of  all  subjects, 
for  I  know  you  would  not  love  me,  my  sweetest  Julia, 
if  you  knew  that  I  loved  even  you  above  my  religion,  or 
against  its  rules — remember  our  last  talk  of  all  in  our 
little  arbour ;  we  agreed  that  unless  we  were  good  it 
was  impossible  for  us  to  be  happy ;  nay,  that  we  could 
not  even  make  each  other  happy,  let  our  ties  be  never 

[35°] 


&\)t  piston?  of  $ft.  31oljn  SDrcastro 

so  intimate,  our  bonds  never  so  sweet,  never  so  close, 
unless  we  did  our  duty  to  heaven  and  to  our  parents : 
remember,  when  you  gave  your  clear  hand  into  mine, 
sweet  pledge  and  symbol  of  your  love,  you  said,  "  My 
clearest  George,  if  our  parents  forbid  it  not,  I  will  be 
yours  for  ever."  But,  alas,  my  love,  though  yours  are 
not  unwilling,  mine  have  forbid  our  union ;  and,  unless 
heaven  turn  their  hearts,  will  make  some  poor  young 
woman  miserable  by  chaining  her  to  one  who  cannot 
love  her ;  and  yet,  dreadful  thought,  must  promise  too, 
even  at  the  altar,  to  love  her ! — Well,  if  I  am  forced  to 
this,  let  them  look  to  it  that  force  it;  heaven  itself  is 
my  witness  that  I  had  rather  die  at  the  altar  than  tell 
a  lie  at  the  altar.  Finally,  let  not  despair  torture  thy 
gentle  bosom,  my  love — it  is  wicked  to  despair,  for  it  is 
as  good  as  to  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Provi- 
dence in  the  world ;  some  change,  as  yet  unseen,  may 
yet  take  place,  and  we  may  yet  be  happy. 

Most  faithfully,  yours, 

George  Grove. 
P.  S.  We  are  on  the  road,  but  whither  we  are  going 
is  a  secret  kept  from  me : — so  I  cannot  give  you  any 
direction,  but  will  write  again  if  possible. 

Genevieve  and  Lady  Charlotte  said  and  did  all  they 
could  to  comfort  poor  Julia,  both  by  words  and  by 
kisses,  but  they  did  not  tell  her  at  ,that  time  the  name 
of  the  lady  whom  George  had  spoken  of  in  his  letter, 
which  Julia  made  an  attempt  to  read  to  them,  but  could 
not  get  through  it  for  crying.  So  what  another  could 
not  read  they  were  fain  to  read  for  themselves.  The 
letter,  she  told  them,  was  no  secret,  for  both  her  father 
and  mother  had  read  it  before  she  had  read  it  herself. 
Lady  Charlotte  said,  she  did  not  count  much  upon  re- 
ligion in  a  storm ;  "  Give  me  the  man,"  added  her  lady- 
ship, "  who  can  say  his  prayers  in  quiet  waters." 

About  this  time  there  was  a  great  and  very  terrible 
[35i] 


tElje  piston?  of  $0t.  3f|olm  SDeca0tro 

thunder  storm,  and  a  fire  ball  struck  a  vast  oak  in  Mr. 
Decastro's  park  and  rent  it  up  into  ribands.  Now  as 
it  is  a  custom  before  some  great  man  makes  his  appear- 
ance for  folks  to  make  a  monstrous  noise  with  drums 
and  other  engines,  this  thunder  storm  came  very  well 
before  the  arrival  of  Acerbus  Decastro,  the  philosopher, 
at  Oaken  Grove.  This  sage  observation  was  made  by 
Old  Comical,  who  walked  before  Acerbus  with  his 
saddle-bags  on  his  shoulder  from  the  ferry  to  the  castle. 

"John," quoth  Acerbus,  "what have  I  to  do  with  the 
thunder  storm  ? " 

"  Buzzy,"  quoth  Old  Comical,  for  so  he  always  called 
Acerbus,  "  the  thunder  storm  is  your  antecedent,  and 
the  antecedent  hath  always  something  or  other  to  do 
with  the  consequent ! — the  rattling  of  the  thunder  comes 
before  you,  just  as  the  rattling  of  the  drums  before 
some  great  man ;  well,  then,  I  come  with  your  saddle- 
bags, and  last  of  all  comes  the  philosopher :  for,  look 
you,  Buzzy,  a  man  of  great  consequence  always  puts 
noise  before  him,  which  some  call  music,  skin,  wind, 
and  string ; — all  these  go  before  a  great  man :  nothing's 
to  be  done  without  noise  in  this  world,  Buzzy ;  if  a  man 
can't  make  a  great  noise  himself,  or  get  a  pack  of 
thundering  boys  to  make  a  great  noise  for  him,  he  had 
as  good  be  three  cloth  yards  under  ground  with  six  or 
seven  tons  of  marble  upon  his  bones." 

Now  all  this  was  very  droll,  but  Old  Comical  might 
just  as  well  have  talked  to  a  wall,  for  the  philosopher 
was  so  deep  in  thought  that  he  heard  not  one  word  of 
it.  The  long  vacation  had  commenced,  and  that  was 
the  reason  why  the  philosopher  came  home  to  see  his 
friends.  He  had  always  been  made  such  a  fuss  with, 
that  he  was  a  spoiled  child  without  getting  any  hurt 
[352] 


t&\)t  Iri&toty  of  mt.  3floljn  EDccastro 

by  it,  for  he  knew  it,  and  was  upon  his  guard  against 
it ;  but  this  was  a  dangerous  example,  and  had  best  not 
be  followed  unless  a  philosopher  be  born  in  a  family. 
Then,  perhaps,  no  harm  may  come  of  it.  There  may 
be  another  exception,  viz.  when  a  child  is  born  a 
natural  fool ; — for  then  both  papa  and  mamma  put  to- 
gether cannot  make  matters  worse.  One  moment,  if 
you  please — we  have  one  just  at  your  service,  reader — 
you  have  found  a  fault,  perhaps  ? — it  is  like  enough — 
Pray,  how  can  a  "  child  be  spoilt  without  getting  any 
hurt  by  it  ?  "  we  beg  to  say,  that  nothing  that  is  spoiled 
ever  is  or  can  be  hurt,  or  get  hurt.  How  can  that  be  ? 
— that  is  no  business  of  ours — let  what  is  spoiled  look 
to  that :  when  an  historian  hath  asserted  a  thing,  that 
is  enough,  and  folks  ought  to  be  content.  It  is  of  no 
sort  of  use  for  people  to  make  a  growling  and  a  noise, 
printed  truth  is  truth,  and  there's  an  end  of  the  chapter. 


23  [353] 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

The  Meeting  of  Genevieve  and  the  Philosopher— Their  Talk 
—A  great  Kiss,  but  the  great  Kiss  comes  first — Gene- 
vieve's mad  Couranto — A  Race  upon  the  King's  High- 
way— A  Man  stolen — Two  good  Children  at  the  heel  of 
the  Chapter — Sometimes  Old  Comical  and  sometimes  the 
Solid  Gentleman  drive th  the  quill. 

When  Genevieve  heard  that  the  philosopher  was 
come,  she  felt  just  as  if  a  flea  had  bit  her  heart  and 
made  it  itch,  and  indeed  her  love  for  Acerbus  was  but 
a  flea-bite  at  this  moment  in  comparison  to  the  vast 
ulcer  which  it  grew  to  be  in  a  little  time.  She  ran  to 
meet  the  philosopher  and  get  a  kiss,  a  common  matter, 
reader,  upon  a  meeting  between  relations,  and  Gene- 
vieve returned  it  upon  Acerbus's  ruddy  cheek  with 
such  a  hearty  smack  that  made  the  room  ring  again ! 
Adsbobs,  a  man  had  need  be  a  philosopher  to  be  kissed 
by  such  a  lovely  woman,  and  get  no  hurt  by  it ! — It 
had  little  effect  upon  Acerbus,  however,  who  very 
coolly  wiped  his  cheek  with  the  back  of  his  hand, 
knowing  her  eager  way,  and  thought  no  more  of  it  than 
if  his  mother  had  kissed  him  in  her  spectacles.  It 
never  came  into  his  head  at  that  time  that  Genevieve 
wanted  to  eat  him :  Nota  bene,  a  lady  in  love  is  a  great 
cannibal,  and  that  was  one  reason  why  Genevieve  ran 
after  the  philosopher  into  the  garden,  another  was  to 
get  him  alone  and  talk  about  love.  What  an  impudent 
toad !  Stay,  reader,  not  talk  about  her  own  love,  O  fie ! 
no — Genevieve  had  taken  fire  first,  and  been  burnt  to 
[354] 


C&f  ^tstoip  of  9&v.  2fiotm  SDrcastro 

the  ground — been  roasted  alive  in  her  clothes — no,  it 
was  about  George  Grove  and  the  pretty  milk-maid  that 
she  came  to  talk.  They  engaged  her  heart  so  much 
that  she  could  scarce  think  of  what  she  felt  herself. 
So  she  ran  after  him  in  the  garden  where  she  saw  him 
walking : — yes,  saw  him  walking,  for  she  watched  him 
like  a  cat ;  saw  him  walking,  for  she  counted  every  step 
he  took  as  she  looked  at  him  out  of  her  room  window ; 
saw  him  walking,  for  although  he  was  not  her  child,  she 
watched  him  as  if  she  were  afraid  he  should  come  to 
some  mischief :  saw  him  walking,  for  the  sight  of  Acer- 
bus  gave  her  black  sparkling  eyes  such  a  sweet  sensa- 
tion. 

"Cousin,"  said  she,  "what  letter  was  that  I  saw 
you  reading  just  now  in  the  garden  here  ?  " 

"One  from  my  friend  George  Grove,"  said  he. 

"  What  have  they  done  with  him  ?  "  said  she,  "  tell 
me  this  moment."' 

"Taken  him  to  Bath,"  said  he. 

"  To  Bath  !  "  said  she. 

"To  Bath,"  said  he;  "'tis  a  town  in  England, 
Jenny." 

"I  know  that,  you  great  fool,"  said  she. 

"You  may,"  said  he,  "and  I  be  none  the  greater  fool 
for  that." 

"  Yes,  you  are  a  great  fool,"  said  she,  "  for  telling  me 
what  you  must  needs  know  that  I  knew  already ;  but 
my  telling  you  that  you  are  a  great  fool  is  news  to  one 
who  thinks  himself  a  great  philosopher:  what  have 
they  taken  George  to  Bath  for  ?  d'ye  know  that,  you 
dunce  ? " 

"  Yes  I  do,  Jenny ;  Charlotte  and  he  will  be  married 
there." 

[355] 


tEtjf  Unstoip  of  S^r.  3f|oljn  SDccastro 

"You  are  very  cool  upon  this  matter,"  said  she,  "one 
would  think  you  did  not  care  a  farthing  for  Julia." 

"  I  do  not  count  Julia's  merits  by  farthings,  Jenny," 
said  he,  "as  some  have  done  yours." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  by  that,  you  jackanapes  ? "  said  she. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "I  look  into  Julia's  heart,  and  into 
your  heart,  Jenny,  to  see  what  ye  are  worth,  and  not 
into  your  pockets." 

"  What !  you  think  some  have  looked  into  my  pocket," 
said  she,  "and  counted  my  merits  that  way  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  that  way  you  have  merits  and  to  spare, 
Jenny,"  said  he. 

"  Take  that  away,  and  what  would  you  give  for  me, 
cousin  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Why,  said  he,  "  there  is  your  beauty,  Jenny,  and 
that  is  another  out-of-door  sort  of  a  thing,  and  as  for 
the  rest  of  the  lump,  there  is  too  much  pepper  in  it  for 
me. 

Genevieve  gave  the  philosopher  a  box  on  the  ear, 
and  called  him  a  blockhead. — "Come,  Mr.  Wiseacre," 
said  she,  "what  do  you  think  of  this  pretty  business 
between  your  friend  George  and  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  George  has  written  to  me  for  advice  upon  it,"  said 
he,  picking  up  his  hat  which  she  had  knocked  off  his 
head,  "and  I  told  him " 

"Come,"  said  she,  "what?  what  did  you  tell  him? 
let  us  hear." 

"You  want  to  hear  and  will  not  let  me  speak,"  said 
he :  "  why  I  told  him,  as  touching  the  marriage  cere- 
mony of  which  he  spake,  that  if  he  married  Charlotte 
and  loved  Julia,  and  Julia  only,  that  they  would  force 
him  to  make  a  false  vow  in  the  church,  and  the  parson 
would  give  him  a  blessing  for  telling  a  lie  at  the  altar." 
[356] 


tEtje  fristorp  of  $9r.  J\o\)n  ©rcastro 

"  My  dear  cousin,"  said  Genevieve,  putting  her  hands 
between  her  knees,  and  squeezing  them  together,  a 
way  she  had  when  in  a  rapture,  "  My  dear  cousin,  that 
was  charming !  but  did  you  bid  George  show  your  let- 
ter to  them  all  ?  did  you  say  anything  about  obedience 
to  parents  ?  for  George  is  so  dutiful,  and  Julia  is  so 
dutiful,  that  they  would  both  go  and  hang  themselves 
if  their  fathers  and  mothers  bid  them  do  so:  duty  to 
parents  may  be  a  very  good  thing  as  long  as  it  does 
not  interfere  too  much  with  one's  duty  to  oneself: — 
did  you  say  anything  about  duty  ? " 

"I  will  answer  you  one  question  first,"  said  he,  "and 
then  another,  and  not  two  at  once,  Jenny.  In  the  first 
place,  I  bade  George  show  my  letter,  wherein  I  argued 
as  touching  obedience  to  parents  that  a  child  shall  not 
disobey  his  parents,  but  a  parent  may  command  a  child 
to  commit  a  sin,  therefore  a  child  shall  not  always  obey 
his  parents:  all  parents  are  under  some  law,  but  if  they 
break  that  law  they  disobey  the  lawgiver;  if  the  child 
commit  sin  by  the  command  of  his  parents,  he  dishon- 
ours his  father  and  mother,  but  he  is  commanded  to 
honour  his  parents,  therefore  it  is  his  duty  to  disobey 
his  father  and  mother." 

"How?"  said  she — "you  have  such  an  odd  way  of 
talking  that  I  can  scarce  understand  you — if  a  child 
docs  a  wrong  thing  by  order  of  his  parents  he  dishon- 
ours his  father  and  mother,  do  you  say  ?  how  is  that, 
Acerbus  ? " 

"  I  argued  in  my  letter  thus,  Jenny " 

"O  I  am  so  glad,"  exclaimed  Genevieve,  "to  get 
you  on  our  side  ! — Well,  and  how  did  you  argue  in  your 
letter  ? " 

"Why  thus,"  said  the  philosopher — "to  obey  another 
[357  J 


We>t  H?t0tor£  of  m.  3f|otm  mttumo 

who  commands  you  to  do  wrong,  is  to  bring  the  com- 
mander into  disgrace,  but  to  disgrace  one's  parents  is 
to  dishonour  them ;  he  that  doeth  a  wrong  thing,  there- 
fore, dishonours  his  parents,  notwithstanding  he  does 
it  by  their  order :  for  how  can  a  child  be  said  to  honour 
his  father  and  mother  by  taking  a  false  oath  at  the 
altar  by  their  command  ?  To  obey  the  second  who 
disobeys  the  first  in  giving  a  command  to  a  third,  is  to 
disobey  the  first  who  hath  a  supreme  right  to  lay  his 
commands  upon  both,  and  exact  obedience  too:  and 
this  thing  would  George  do  if  he  took  a  false  oath  at 
the  communion-table  by  order  of  his  father  and  mother, 
who  disobey  the  supreme  law  by  commanding  such 
obedience.  Now  if  George  cannot  love  Charlotte  be- 
cause he  loves  Julia,  but  promises  at  the  altar  to  for- 
sake Julia  and  love  Charlotte,  which  he  tells  me  is  im- 
possible, he  makes  such  a  promise  at  his  own  peril,  and 
ought  to  name  the  impediment  as  soon  as  the  parson 
has  read  the  ad  juratory  charge.  I  proceeded  to  argue 
thus — he  that  delegates  authorities  to  inferior  powers 
limits  the  extent  of  such  authorities,  but  no  parent  hath 
any  right  to  command  a  child  to  break  his  laws  who 
delegated  to  them  such  authorities,  it  is  the  child's  duty, 
therefore,  to  keep  the  commandment  and  disobey  his 
parents.  This  is  the  sum  of  my  argument  in  George's 
case." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right,"  said  Genevieve,  "  but  I 
am  dreadfully  afraid  that  your  letter  will  either  not  be 
understood  or  be  neglected." 

"  It  may  be  neglected,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  but 

cannot  be  misunderstood : — I  bade  him  put  it  into  the 

hands  of  the  parson  as  soon  as  the  adjuratory  charge 

were  read,  naming  the  impediment  which  he  is  called 

[358] 


Weft  $?i0torp  of  Spr.  3f]otyn  ©rcastro 

upon  in  so  imperious  a  manner  to  declare ;  if  the  parson 
be  a  grave  man  he  will  put  the  ceremony  by  upon  it." 

"O  if  they  once  get  George  and  Charlotte  into 
church  it  will  be  a  lost  game,  take  my  word  for  it," 
said  Genevieve,  "  surrounded  as  they  are  like  to  be  by 
a  gang  of  fine  folks  who  want  for  nothing  themselves, 
and  therefore  leave  religion  to  others  to  beg  and  to 
pray  by — suppose  George  should  not  have  spirit  enough 
to  object  his  impediment — or  suppose  he  did,  and  got 
laughed  out  of  it — or,  suppose  a  hundred  thousand 
things " 

"Well,  but  you  can  do  no  good,  Jenny,"  said  Acer- 
bus,  "by  running  mad  about  it." 

"A  fiddlestick's  end  !  "  said  she — "the  thing  will  be 
the  death  of  Julia  and  George  too;  they  had  better 
blow  their  brains  out  at  once  than  murder  them  by 
inches: — if  St.  Paul  himself  rose  from  the  dead  and 
writ  them  as  long  a  letter  as  the  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians, they  would  marry  them  if  they  heard  the  very 
devil  hiss  at  the  altar !  something  must  be  done  and 
shall  be  done  or  I " 

"Dear,  dear  Jenny!"  said  Acerbus,  "you  talk  so 
loud  you  make  the  place  echo !  " 

"The  devil  take  the  echoes!"  said  she;  "what  can 
be  done  ? " 

"Why,  verily,"  said  the  philosopher,  "if  time  were 
allowed  my  friend,  something  might  be  done  to  disen- 
tangle his  affections  from  Julia,  but  this  thing  is  pushed 
on  with  so  much  haste " 

"Haste!"  exclaimed  Genevieve,  "why,  is  any  day 
fixed  ?  ha  ?  tell  me !  is  any  day  fixed,  I  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  will  be  married  some  day  next  week ;  I 

received  this  letter " 

[359] 


Wyt  S?tetor£  of  $pr.  iflotjn  2>cca0tro 

"This  letter!"  said  Genevieve,  "what  letter?  you 
never  told  me  of  any  letter !  " 

"Yes,  I  did,"  said  he;  "I  just  now  said  I  had  re- 
ceived a  letter,  and  have  just  now  said  what  were  the 
sum  and  substance  of  my  answer  thereunto." 

"  Aye,  I  had  forgot, — give  me  the  letter,  let  me  see 
the  letter,  where  is  the  letter?  is  the  man  made  of 
wood ! "  said  Genevieve,  thrusting  her  hands  into  the 
philosopher's  pockets  to  feel  for  it,  and  turning  them 
inside  out,  and  all  their  contents !  all  their  contents ! 
aye,  out  came  poor  George's  letter  with  snail -shells, 
caterpillars,  beetles,  and  butterflies,  for  the  philosopher 
was  a  great  virtuoso.  She  snatched  it  off  the  ground, 
leaving  him  to  pick  up  his  beetles  and  his  caterpillars, 
which  ran  different  ways,  and  gave  the  philosopher  a 
world  of  trouble,  putting  his  hat  upon  some  and  his 
hands  upon  others.  Genevieve,  in  the  mean  time,  read 
as  follows : 

To  Acerbus  Decastro. 

My  dearest  Friend  :  I  gave  you  a  full  account  of 
all  matters  between  me  and  my  Julia,  in  my  last  letter: 
I  must  now  beg  most  earnestly  of  you  to  tell  me 
whether  there  is  not  a  fault  in  what  I  am  going  to  do : 
I  shall  marry  one  woman  and  love  another,  pray  excuse 
so  wild  a  term,  love  another  to  distraction.  I  have 
this  moment  read  over  the  marriage  ceremony,  and  I 
am  of  opinion  that  I  shall  commit  a  sin  in  it.  I  know 
I  can  speak  so  to  you,  who  think  a  sin  no  laughing 
matter ;  I  seriously  own  that  I  think  a  sin  no  laughing 
matter,  nor  religion  any  laughing  matter,  though  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  I  am  now  amongst  those  who  do  so,  gay 
folks  who  either  laugh  at  religion  because  they  know 
nothing  of  it,  or  make  a  jest  of  it  because  it  forbids 
their  vices.  However,  I  would  not  be  thought  to  call 
in  religion  to  give  me  ground  to  disobey  my  father,  or 

[360] 


X&ty  ^iatorp  of  spr.  iflotm  SDecaatro 

to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  get  a  beautiful  woman.  I 
have  resigned  myself  to  my  parents,  and,  though  in  the 
madness  of  my  love  for  Julia  it  is  like  enough  that  I 
may  be  extravagant,  yet  I  seriously  think  that  I  cannot 
long  survive  this  marriage,  preparations  for  which  are 
making  with  the  utmost  expedition,  so  much  so  that  I 
am  sure  I  shall  not  be  a  single  man  another  fortnight. 
For  heaven's  sake,  as  you  love  me,  my  dearest  Acer- 
bus,  give  me  your  very  best  advice— read  this  cere- 
mony with  all  attention — it  is  of  all  others  the  most 
dreadful  thought,  that  I  should  stand  guilty  of  perjury 
at  the  holy  altar.  I  have  read  the  ceremony  over 
twenty  times,  and  every  time  convinces  me  more  than 
the  other,  that  I  shall  commit  a  fault  in  what  I  shall 
now  do:  but  yet,  seeing  this  through  the  medium  of 
my  love  for  Julia,  the  matter  may  be  magnified,  it  is 
like  it  may ;  I  am  too  much  interested  to  judge  for  my- 
self, I  am  indeed.  It  were  like  enough  for  a  man  in 
my  situation  to  be  a  great  deal  more  afraid  of  losing 
a  beautiful  girl  whom  he  loves  to  distraction — there 
comes  that  word  again— than  of  committing  a  fault. 
Spare  me  not,  my  friend;  but  I  know  you  will  not 
sacrifice  the  truth  to  me.  I  am  in  such  a  predicament 
that  I  can  write  no  letter  without  asking  my  father's 
leave — I  have  it  to  write  to  you — you  may  guess  at  my 
situation  by  this : — we  are  at  Bath  in  the  Upper  Cres- 
cent—write immediately. 

My  dearest  friend, 

Most  faithfully  yours, 

George  Grove. 

"  The  Groves  are  at  Bath,  then !  "  exclaimed  Gene- 
vieve— "  no  soul  here  knew  what  was  become  of  them, 
or  whither  they  were  fled. — Lord  and  Lady  Budemere 
took  Charlotte  to  Bath  last  week  I  know  very  well — 
to  be  married  it  is  now  plain  enough ! — They  will  no 
more  regard  your  letter,  cousin,  than  they  will  regard 
the  wind :  they  will  be  the  death  of  George  and  Julia  as 
[36i] 


Wt)t  J?istorp  of  $)r.  3flotm  Decaatro 

much  as  if  they  shot  both  through  the  head — I'll  to 
Bath  this  moment — where  are  they  ? "  said  she,  snatch- 
ing the  letter  out  of  the  philosopher's  hand — "  O,  in 
the  Upper  Crescent — I'll  to  Bath  this  moment,  and 
pull  the  Upper  Crescent  about  their  ears,  and  bury 
myself  and  the  rest  in  the  ruins,  sooner  than  this  match 
shall  take  place ! " 

And  she  was  as  good  as  her  word  as  far  as  going  to 
Bath,  though,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  she  did  not 
lay  violent  hands  upon  any  of  the  buildings,  but  she 
laid  violent  hands  on  something  else,  as  will  be  seen. 
She  was  gone  in  a  moment,  leaving  the  philosopher, 
upon  his  hands  and  knees,  scrambling  after  his  beetles, 
and,  putting  four  post-horses  to  her  carriage,  off  she 
went  like  smoke !  The  philosopher  carried  so  much 
live  stock  about  him  that  it  was  not  very  safe  for  any 
to  come  into  his  neighbourhood,  for  his  clothes  were 
full  of  beetles,  bats,  lizards,  gryllotalpas  and  scolopen- 
dras  that  crawled  all  over  him,  and  drew  others  which 
he  never  caught  in  search  of  their  fathers,  and  mothers 
husbands,  wives,  children,  brothers,  and  sisters,  and 
some  after  a  time  settled  with  their  families  and  estab- 
lishments in  his  garments. 

But  to  return  to  Genevieve: — whatever  else  she 
might  lose  on  the  road,  she  certainly  lost  no  time  on 
it.  In  she  came  into  Bath  on  a  full  gallop,  and  the 
post-horses  were  glad  to  get  rid  of  her,  for  she  paid  the 
drivers  well  to  give  them  a  good  spurring.  Away  she 
went,  with  fresh  horses,  directly  to  the  Upper  Crescent, 
when  she  found  a  great  crowd  at  Lord  Budemere's 
door,  and  among  other  things,  three  or  four  carriages 
with  servants  and  horses  adorned  with  ribands.  Upon 
this  she  gave  up  all  for  lost  and  took  it  for  granted  that 
[362] 


X&\)t  piston?  of  flj&r.  31otm  EDecastro 

the  wedding  was  over:  she  jumped  out  of  her  carriage 
in  a  moment,  and,  driving  her  way  through  the  people, 
rang  at  the  house  door.  A  servant  coming,  she  said 
she  wished  to  speak  a  word  with  Mr.  George  Grove, 
whom  she  understood  to  be  in  that  house. 

"  He  is  just  going  to  be  married,  madam,"  said  the 
servant. 

"  O  I  know  that  very  well,"  said  she,  "  I  will  not  de- 
tain him  two  minutes." 

While  the  fellow  was  gone  to  bring  George,  Gene- 
vieve bit  her  lips  till  they  bled.  George  came  to  the 
door  presently,  and  the  moment  she  saw  him  she  caught 
him  up  in  her  arms  as  one  would  a  child,  forced  him 
into  her  carriage,  and  ordered  the  drivers  to  get  out  of 
Bath  with  all  speed !  This  thing,  as  it  were  like,  filled 
the  by-standers  with  great  admiration.  The  post-boys 
exchanged  a  broad  grin  or  two,  put  whip  and  spur  to 
four  very  spirited  horses,  and  were  out  of  sight  Like  a 
flash  of  lightning. 

One  way  to  put  a  stop  to  a  wedding  is  to  take  away 
the  bridegroom;  and  this  was  one  reason  why  Lady 
Charlotte  was  not  married  to  George  Grove  that  morn- 
ing, and  none  will  make  any  objection,  perhaps,  to  its 
being  a  very  good  one. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  that  the  parson  stood  with  his 
book,  and  the  church  doors  open,  and  the  clerk  ready 
to  do  his  proper  office,  when  news  was  brought  that  a 
lady  had  seized  George,  put  him  into  her  carriage  by 
force,  and  ran  off  with  him  at  full  speed :  so  the  parson 
ordered  the  clerk  to  lock  the  doors  and  take  care  of 
the  church.  The  servant,  instead  of  giving  an  imme- 
diate alarm,  stood  some  time  chattering  with  the  people 
at  the  street-door,  until  another  came  to  make  inquiries 
L363] 


tEfje  H?i0tor£  of  £&v.  31oljn  SDecaatro 

for  the  bridegroom,  when  both  the  servants  came  to 
tell  the  news  together,  at  which  the  whole  party,  and 
that  no  small  one,  expressed  great  amazement.  But  as 
soon  as  the  servant  who  stood  by  gave,  upon  being 
questioned,  a  description  of  Genevieve's  person,  it  was 
soon  known  who  it  was  that  had  run  away  with  George 
Grove.  Inquiries  were  now  made  as  soon  as  possible 
in  all  directions,  when  Lord  Budemere  and  Mr.  Grove, 
taking  the  best  intelligence  they  could  get,  and  some 
servants,  put  themselves  directly  upon  a  pursuit. 
Genevieve  would  have  fairly  outrun  them,  however, 
but  for  an  accident ;  poor  George  Grove  fell  ill,  and 
she  was  forced  to  stop,  put  him  to  bed  at  an  inn,  and 
send  for  a  medical  man  to  attend  him.  He  had,  in 
fact,  suffered  so  much  of  late,  poor  fellow,  from  grief 
and  vexation,  that  he  was  much  exhausted,  and  what 
with  his  weak  state,  and  the  perpetual  worry  of  Gene- 
vieve's incessant  tongue,  giving  reasons  and  making 
excuses  for  what  she  had  done,  he  could  stand  his 
ground  no  longer,  but  was  forced  to  lie  by  on  the  road  to 
get  a  little  strength  to  go  on. 

Mr.  Grove  and  the  peer,  running  through  the  town 
in  which  George  lay  ill,  caught  sight  of  Lucy,  Gene- 
vieve's maid,  who  stood,  imprudently  enough,  fixed  in 
admiration  of  a  tawdry  gown,  displayed  like  a  trap  in 
a  draper's  shop  window.  They  stopped  the  carriage, 
and  called  to  Lucy — and  they  called  and  called  again, 
for  the  wary  jade  stood  her  ground  like  a  statue,  to 
coin  a  lie.  One  of  the  servants  was  then  ordered  to 
bring  her  to  the  carriage  immediately,  and  it  was  de- 
manded of  her,  under  heavy  threats,  in  what  part  of 
the  town  her  mistress  might  be  found. 

"  My  mistress,  my  lord  ?  "  said  she,  for  he  was  most 
[364] 


GTtjc  in&tovy  of  3Rr.  2f|otm  EDrcastto 

eager  to  ask  questions,  "  I  will  show  you  where  she 
lives,  presently." 

"  Lives  !  "  said  his  lordship. 

"Yes,  my  lord,"  said  Lucy,  "she  was  alive  this 
morning  when  she  sent  me  to  market." 

"  Sent  you  to  market !  "  quoth  his  lordship. 

"  Yes,  my  lord,  sent  me  to  market  with  a  basket  of 
ducks,  which  I  have  sold  and  am  going  home  with  the 
money  in  my  hand  as  you  see,"  showing  him  the  money 
which  she  held  in  her  hand  to  buy  the  gown:  "ducks," 
my  lord,  "being  but  little  in  these  parts." 

"The  devil  take  your  ducks!  where  is  Miss  De 
Roma  ? " 

"Miss  De  Roma!"  quoth  Lucy;  "does  your  lord- 
ship think  I  could  live  with  a  mad  woman  ?  I  love  my 
bones  better  than  all  that,  so  I  goes  and  hires  myself  to 
a  quiet  farmer's  wife,  and  will  live  upon  bacon  and 
cabbage  all  my  life  sooner  than  wait  upon  any  fashion- 
able mad  woman  upon  the  face  of  the  earth." 

"  Drive  on !  "  quoth  Lord  Budemere. 

"  A  good  journey  to  your  lordship,"  quoth  Lucy, 
making  my  lord  and  Mr.  Grove  one  of  her  best  cour- 
tesies. As  soon  as  the  carriage  was  got  out  of  sight, 
Lucy  ran  to  her  mistress,  and  told  her  what  had  hap- 
pened, who  could  not  help  laughing  at,  though  she  felt 
like  one  who  had  been  the  cause  of,  such  a  scandalous 
lie.  After  a  day  and  a  night's  rest,  George  Grove  was 
able  to  proceed  on  his  journey. 

This  thing,  as  it  were  like,  occasioned  a  great  deal  of 
talk,  and  a  great  many  stories  were  told  upon  it,  and 
one  very  much  to  Genevieve's  discredit,  which  was, 
that  she  put  a  pistol  to  George  Grove's  breast,  and 
menaced  him  with  death  if  he  made  any  disturbance. — 
[365] 


G£t)e  fyittoty  of  m.  3fiot)n  2Decaatro 

We  do  not  pretend  to  exculpate  Genevieve  in  this  mat- 
ter, but  we  will  take  leave  to  say  that  this  story  is  un- 
true. As  for  her  being  herself  in  love  with  him,  though 
people  will  say  strange  things,  it  is  a  little  extraordinary 
that  anybody  should  say  such  a  thing  as  that;  we  just 
mention  it,  however,  to  prove  how  far  folks  will  go, 
when  they  are  in  a  talking  humour.  Now,  although 
we  cannot  exculpate  Genevieve,  something,  we  think, 
may  be  said  in  mitigation  of  the  severe  sentence  passed 
upon  her  on  this  occasion:  and  first,  the  violence  of 
the  passions  have  been  often  pleaded  in  extenuation  of 
the  worst  of  crimes,  murder  itself  has  often  been  soft- 
ened down  into  manslaughter — if  then  where  an  ill 
motive  produced  the  extravagance  the  violence  of  the 
mind  comes  in  as  an  excuse,  what  may  be  said  when 
love  and  friendship,  amiable  principles,  push  one  on  to 
a  fault  to  serve  a  friend  ? 

We  shall  take  the  opportunity  to  express  our  sorrow 
in  this  place  and  great  regret,  at  having  no  such  thing 
as  either  a  man  or  a  woman  without  a  fault : — could  we 
find  such  a  thing  it  would  give  us  much  pleasure  and 
satisfaction  to  introduce  the  same  to  our  readers  gratis 
— though  we  think  we  should  rather  find  our  account 
in  putting  up  a  painted  cloth  and  blowing  a  horn,  taking 
a  shilling  a-piece  of  all  curious  folks  for  a  sight  of  such 
a  phenomenon. 

Genevieve  had  exhausted  all  her  arguments  upon 
George,  and  was  fain  to  go  over  some  of  the  old  ground 
again  to  get  him  in  a  mind  to  proceed.  He  said, 
"  glad  as  he  was  of  an  escape  from  committing  what  he 
thought  a  very  great  crime,  and  declaring  in  the  church 
that  it  was  his  will  to  take  a  woman  for  his  wedded  wife, 
when,  at  the  same  time,  nothing  could  be  more  contrary 
13^1 


(Efje  fyistoxy  of  ;3pt.  31oljn  EDecastro 

to  it,  yet  he  could  not  be  brought  to  think  that  any  good 
would  come  of  the  measure  she  had  taken,  for  although 
the  matter  were  deferred  a  little  by  it,  he  was  sure  it 
would  not  easily  be  given  up." 

Genevieve  replied,  "  If  Julia  and  he  would  take  her 
advice  there  would  be  little  danger  of  that." 

George  said,  "he  knew  what  she  meant,  but  if  he 
could  get  the  better  of  his  own  scruples  upon  it,  he  was 
sure  Julia  would  never  consent  to  marry  him  without 
leave." 

Genevieve  overruled  this,  and  said,  "  there  were  cases 
when  one  evil  was  to  be  weighed  against  another ;  par- 
ents bringing  their  children  into  such  dilemmas,  if  any- 
thing were  done  amiss  it  would  be  set  down  to  their 
account.  As  to  Mr.  Grove,  he  had  gone  quite  far 
enough  to  cancel  all  moral  obligation  on  his  son's  part, 
pushing  him  forward  with  his  eyes  open  upon  no  less  a 
crime  than  a  false  oath  at  the  altar:  for,  if  his  eyes 
were  shut  before  the  letter  (meaning  Acerbus's)  were 
read  to  him,  he  could  not  choose  but  see  every  thing 
plainly  enough  when  it  had  been :  and  to  marry  against 
his  father's  consent  would  certainly  be  a  less  evil  of 
the  two." 

George  seemed  to  think  that  all  was  not  right  in  this 
argument,  but  either  could  not  find  out  what  were 
wrong  in  it,  or  had  no  mind  to  take  any  pains  to  look 
for  it.  Genevieve,  however,  held  him  fast  between  her 
and  Lucy,  and,  after  a  long  run  on  the  turnpike  road,  on 
which  Mr.  Grove  and  the  peer  had  won  the  race  with- 
out knowing  it,  lodged  him  safely  in  her  cottage,  left 
him  in  the  care  of  her  old  nurse,  and  made  the  best  of 
her  way  to  the  castle  to  bring  Julia  to  him.  When  she 
came  there  she  found  Mr.  Grove  and  the  peer  had  come 

I367J 


XKfyt  History  of  $pr»  3|otm  Dccastro 

before  her,  and  told  their  story,  and  not  a  little  glad 
were  they  to  find  Julia  was  safe  in  the  house.  Coming 
in,  the  first  person  whom  she  met  was  Old  Crab : 

"  Ahey ! "  quoth  he,  "  Whence  came  you,  man- 
stealer  ? " 

"I  am  just  come  off  the  road,  uncle,"  said  she. 

"  Why,  then,"  quoth  he,  "  men  may  walk  on  it  without 
any  danger — are  you  run  mad  ?  or,  what  the  plague  is 
come  to  you  ? " 

"I  don't  know  if  I  have  been  mad,"  said  she,  "how- 
ever, I  am  not  mad  now." 

"All  the  better,"  said  he,  "we  might  have  had  more 
men  chopped  up  else." 

"  What  I  have  done  I  have  done,  uncle,  I  cannot  now 
undo  it,  and  do  it  better." 

"The  devil's  in't  if  you  could,  'tis  done  and  over  done 
and  anything  but  well  done ! "  quoth  Old  Crab. 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Genevieve,  "  I  am  like  enough  to 
meet  with  blame,  I  expect  that,  thanks  will  come  after, 
as  for  blame  I  am  prepared  for  it." 

"  Prepared  !  "  quoth  he ;  "I  don't  know  what  the  devil 
you  are  not  prepared  for,  that  could  seize  a  young  fel- 
low by  main  force  in  a  public  street,  and  carry  him  off 
neck  and  heels  out  of  his  friend's  house  whether  he 
would  or  not.  What  Fury  could  drive  you  to  do  such 
a  thing  as  this  ?  and,  pray,  what  the  plague  have  you 
done  with  him,  ate  him  ? — bones  and  all,  I  warrant, 
for  nothing  could  stick  in  your  throat  after  such  an 
exploit  as  this !  " 

"  No,  uncle ;  I  have  not  ate  him,  it  was  not  upon  my 
own  account  that  I  have  done  this  thing,  but  for  your 
daughter  Julia's  sake." 

"  Yes,  yes !  you  are  like  to  mend  matters  finely,  if  all 
[368] 


GN)t  Jh>istotf  of  tytt.  3f|otm  SDecastto 

Bedlam  let  loose  at  once  in  a  gang  could  not  do  it ! " 
quoth  Old  Crab,  and  marched  out  of  the  house,  having 
called  to  see  Julia,  who  was  getting  very  ill. 

Genevieve  then  ran  up  to  Julia's  apartment,  and  said, 
"  she  was  come  to  give  her  an  airing  in  her  carriage," 
and  began  to  put  a  cloak  upon  her. 

Julia  exclaimed,  "  My  dearest  cousin,  what  have  you 
done  ?  Lord  Budemere  and  Mr.  Grove  were  here  yes- 
terday, and  said  you  had  come  to  Bath  and  taken  Mr. 
George  Grove  away,  and  they  could  not  tell  what  you 
had  done  with  him  !  " 

"  My  dearest  girl,"  said  she,  "  what  do  you  ask  a 
thing  which  you  know  so  well  already  ?  but  come  with 
me,  and  I  will  tell  you  a  very  odd  story." 

She  slipt  away  with  Julia,  for  she  had  left  her  carriage 
at  the  park  gates  lest  the  noise  of  it  might  bring  her 
any  hindrance  if  brought  to  the  house,  and  putting 
Julia  into  it,  leaped  in  after  her,  and  took  her  directly 
to  her  cottage.  Coming  within  a  small  distance  of  it, 
Julia  espied  a  man  walking  on  the  margin  of  the  lake. 

"  Who  is  he,"  said  Julia,  "  that  walks  there  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Genevieve,  "if  you  had  waited  till  I 
were  come  to  the  end  of  my  story  I  would  have  told 
you;  that  is  George  Grove  come  out  to  look  for  us." 

Julia  fluttered  a  great  deal  at  the  sight  of  him,  and 
made  some  objections  to  going  on.  Genevieve,  how- 
ever, bore  down  all  opposition,  and  wheeled  Julia  up  to 
her  cottage  door.  The  old  nurse,  who  had  orders 
how  to  manage  matters,  took  Julia  into  a  little  par- 
lour, telling  her  that  her  mistress  staid  to  give  some 
orders  to  her  servants  and  would  come  presently. 
Julia  sat  down  upon  a  sofa,  a  good  deal  agitated, 
but  did  her  best  to  collect  all  her  strength  and  spirits 
24  L369] 


Gtt)e  flnfitotp  of  $&t.  3|o^n  ©ecaatro 

to  see  George.  For  this  purpose  a  space  of  about 
ten  minutes  was  allowed  her,  when  on  a  sudden  the 
door  was  opened  and  George  Grove  came  in.  Julia 
arose,  and  took  two  or  three  steps  to  meet  him,  and, 
fainting  away  in  his  arms,  dropt  her  face  upon  his 
bosom.  George  bore  her  as  well  as  he  could  back  to 
the  sofa,  and,  observing  one  of  her  hands  to  be  clasped, 
thinking  a  bottle  of  salts  might  be  in  it,  opened  her 
fingers,  and  found  a  little  picture  of  himself  which  he  had 
given  her,  held  within  them.  She  presently  came  to  her 
senses,  and  found  George  hanging  over  her  as  she  lay 
reclined  on  the  sofa,  and  his  tears  falling  into  her  neck. 

After  mutual  condolences,  George  told  her,  with  an 
affectionate  kiss,  what  was  Genevieve's  meaning  in 
bringing  him  there,  and  that  her  carriage  was  held  in 
readiness  at  the  door  to  take  them  any  where  they 
pleased  to  go.  Julia  started  immediately,  disentangled 
herself  from  George's  arms,  who  held  her  fast  to  his 
bosom,  and  said,  "  Surely  I  know  you  too  well,  my 
dearest  George,  to  expect  that  you  will  urge  me  to  this  ? 
Are  we  not  already  quite  miserable  enough  ?  but  I  shall 
wrong  you  with  suspecting  a  thing  of  which  you  can 
never  be  guilty : — I  cannot  love  you  if  I  were  to  con- 
sent to  make  you  more  wretched  and  myself  more  mis- 
erable than  we  now  are,  but  I  should  do  a  great  deal 
worse  than  not  love  you  if  I  thought  you  could  second 
my  dearest  cousin  in  this  matter." 

"O  my  dearest  Julia,"  said  he,  "surely  many  and 
great  allowances  should  be  made  for  any  in  such  a  case 
as  ours,  if  any  thing  can  be  excused." 

"Pray  read  that  letter,"  said  she,  taking  the  last  he 
writ  to  her  out  of  her  bosom,  "  read  it  attentively,  be- 
fore you  speak  another  word." 


Ctjc  Distort  of  t$r*  ^lotjn  SDrcastro 

"I  need  not  read  it,"  said  he,  "for  I  very  well  know 
what  I  said  in  it,  but,  O  my  love,  how  easy  a  thing  it 
is  to  say  what  ought  to  be  done,  and  how  hard  to  do 
what  should  be  !  " 

"This  is  very  true,"  said  she;  "but  let  us  strive  to 
the  utmost  to  do  our  duty  in  this  very  distressing  case. 
As  matters  are,  things  may  change  in  our  favour,  let  us 
not  by  our  own  imprudence  bar  good  fortune  out :  your 
last  letter  has  given  me  great  comfort,  let  us  make  it 
our  rule,  my  dearest  George,  and  we  cannot  long  be 
miserable.  I  love  you  more  than  I  ever  loved  you  for 
it,  O  do  not  what  will  make  me  love  you  less !  In  re- 
gard to  my  dearest  cousin's  proposal,  and  I  am  sure  she 
means  well  in  it,  yet  I  cannot,  nay,  I  am  sure  you 
would  have  me  rather  die  than  agree  to  it :  for,  what- 
ever turn  things  may  take,  whatever  forgiveness  may 
come,  such  an  act  will  leave  a  deep  wound  in  our 
bosoms,  which,  like  an  ulcer  healed  at  top,  will  rankle 
underneath.  If  it  please  heaven  that  we  should  ever 
meet,  my  love,  for  indeed,  indeed  you  are  my  love," 
said  she,  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  while  a  tear  stood 
on  each  cheek,  "  let  us  not  do  that  now  which  will  then 
diminish  our  happiness.  Go,  my  dearest  George,  re- 
sign yourself  up  to  your  father,  who  is  now  with  Lord 
Budemere  at  Hindermark,  and  obey  his  commands." 

"  But,  my  dearest  Julia,  how  can  I  do  this,  and 
break  a  higher  command  ?  can  I  walk  up  to  the  com- 
munion-table and  say  that  I  am  willing  to  take  lady 
Charlotte  Orby  for  my  wedded  wife  and  not  utter  the 
greatest  falsehood  that  man  ever  spoke?." 

"I  had  forgot  that,"  said  Julia;  "but  what  did  you 
do  with  my  cousin  Acerbus's  letter  ?  " 

"  I  read  it  to  my  father  and  my  mother,  and  to  Lord 
[37i] 


Stje  l?igcor?  of  Spr.  31olm  s>rcastto 

and  Lady  Budemere  and  others  who  were  present,  and 
it  was  held  in  contempt  by  some,  and  by  others  laughed 
at.  I  then  took  it  to  the  clergyman  who  was  to  read 
the  ceremony,  and  he  said  it  was  of  considerable  force, 
but,  being  a  man  low  in  the  church,  was  under  too  much 
awe  to  say  a  word  for  me.  What  can  be  done,  my 
Julia?" 

"  Done ! "  said  she,  "  can  you  hesitate  one  moment  ? 
your  duty,  surely ;  speak  for  yourself  at  the  altar,  name 
your  impediment  and  refuse  to  tell  a  lie  there.  To  run 
away  is  a  sign  of  guilt  or  fear,  my  love ;  let  us  stand 
our  ground  and  fear  nothing  but  to  offend  Him  who 
will  bless  us  and  reward  us  if  we  do  our  duty." 

George  clasped  Julia  in  his  arms  and  held  her  to  his 
bosom  in  silence. 

"Farewell,  George,"  said  she,  "go  and  do  as  I  bid 
you:" — upon  which  Genevieve's  carriage,  which  was 
held  in  readiness  at  the  door  to  have  taken  the  lovers 
to  Gretna  Green  if  they  had  a  mind  to  go  there,  served 
a  very  different  purpose,  and  conveyed  George  to  Hin- 
dermark,  who,  resigning  himself  into  his  father's  hands, 
returned  with  him  and  Lord  Budemere  to  Bath. 

Genevieve,  who  had  put  herself  into  closet  to  be  wit- 
ness to  all  that  passed  between  George  and  Julia,  when 
she  found  that  George  was  come  to  a  resolution  to  do 
as  Julia  had  bid  him,  said  but  little,  for  he  and  Julia 
heaped  gratitude  and  thanks  enough  upon  her  to  sat- 
isfy any  moderate  person  for  all  she  had  done  for  them. 
Old  Crab,  when  he  heard  how  Julia  had  acted  in  this 
matter,  called  her  a  good  wench  and  kissed  her  cheek, 
which  was  one  of  the  kindest  things  which  he  ever  did 
to  any  body's  face. 

[372] 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

Lady  Charlotte  Orby's  Plot  to  break  off  the  Match  between 
her  and  George  Grove — Lord  Budemere  goes  abroad — 
Lady  Budemere  and  Lady  Charlotte  arrive  at  Oaken 
Grove — Genevieve's  talk  with  the  Philosopher — She  falls 
into  a  muse — She  and  her  Conscience  pull  caps — Freder- 
ick comes  to  Bath. 

We  put  an  end  to  the  last  chapter  with  Old  Crab's 
kissing  his  daughter  as  it  were  in  token  of  his  appro- 
bation of  her  conduct,  which,  we  observed,  with  infinite 
wit  and  humour,  and  hope  our  readers  will  be  of  our 
mind,  was  one  of  the  kindest  things  which  he  ever  did 
to  any  body's/rt^r.  Every  body  will  scarce  be  of  Old 
Crab's  opinion  in  this  thing,  and  the  ladies,  perhaps, 
the  scarcest  of  all;  who  may  go  so  far  as  to  call  Julia  a 
great  fool,  having  her  lover  in  her  arms  and  not  unwill- 
ing to  make  a  dash  with  her,  a  chariot  and  a  pair  of 
excellent  horses  standing  ready  at  the  door  and  at  their 
service,  and,  notwithstanding  so  favourable  an  opportu- 
nity, sending  George  Grove,  whom  she  was  dying  for, 
back  again  to  his  father  to  be  married  to  another 
woman !  Such  was  the  fact,  however,  but  whether  she 
did  right- or  wrong,  great  judges,  and  those  that  are  not 
so,  will  determine.  Now  if  one  party  call  Julia  a  great 
fool,  another  will  call  her  a  heroine,  and  the  like  fine 
names,  and  cry  up  the  thing  as  a  noble  victory  over  the 
passions :  while  squeamish,  prudish,  stupid,  and  foolish, 
and  the  like  epithets  fill  the  mouths  of  others. 
[373] 


tEtjc  piston?  of  spr.  J[0\)x\  2Dcca0tro 

Poor  George  took  his  farewell  of  Julia,  and  stept 
heavily  into  the  carriage,  for  Genevieve  let  him  find  his 
way  into  it  himself  this  time,  and  was  drawn,  like  a 
corpse  in  a  hearse,  to  Hindermark.  Genevieve  was 
now  grown  cool,  cool  as  a  bar  of  cold  iron  which  had 
been  red  hot,  and,  sending  her  old  nurse  to  take  Julia 
back  to  the  castle,  fell  into  a  muse.  After  a  great  bat- 
tle had  been  fought  in  her  brains,  and  argument  en- 
countered argument  upon  her  conduct,  her  conscience 
took  sides  against  her,  and  she  and  that  divinity  fell 
fearfully  at  odds.  Poor  Genevieve !  she  was  fairly 
beaten  out  of  the  field  and  was  forced  to  take  shelter 
under  her  good  intentions ;  she  now  saw  that  the  heat 
of  her  friendship  for  George  and  Julia  had  run  her  into 
a  fault.  Yet  she  was  loath  to  condemn  herself,  and 
could  not  clearly  see  how  a  kind  heart  could  bring  any 
body  to  blame. 

Looking  out  of  her  window  she  saw  the  philosopher 
walking  by  the  water-side  with  a  book  in  his  hands. 
She  called  to  him  seven-and-forty  times  before  she 
could  get  his  attention,  for  he  was  deep  in  Aristotle. 

"Ah,  Jenny,"  said  he,  coming  to  the  window  which 
was  open,  "  I  was  reading  about  women  here,  and  your 
pretty  face  comes  well  enough  as  a  commentary  to  the 
text." 

"  Come  in  cousin,"  said  she,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
a  little:"  her  bright  eyes  flashed  fire  at  being  called 
pretty  by  Acerbus. 

"  I  was  told,"  said  the  philosopher,  "  that  you  had  got 
my  friend  George  here,  so  took  my  book  in  my  hands 
and  walked  this  way  to  see  him." 

Genevieve  was  a  little  mortified  at  this,  who  had  quite 
as  lief  he  had  come  that  way  to  see  her ;  she  proceeded, 
23  [374] 


Clje  history  of  fl9r.  3(|o!)n  Decastro 

however,  to  tell  him  all  that  had  passed  between  George 
and  Julia  at  her  cottage.  The  philosopher,  having 
heard  all  with  exceeding  gravity,  said,  "  It  was  very 
well.  But  we  must  distinguish  one  thing  from  another 
in  this  matter,"  continued  he,  putting  the  fore-finger 
of  his  right  hand  upon  Genevieve's  bosom,  for  no  other 
purpose  but  to  call  her  attention,  it  made  her  blush 
however,  "  we  must  distinguish  one  thing  from  another 
in  this  matter:  as  thus: — You  have  a  very  kind  warm 
heart,  Jenny,  and  always  had,  and  I  love  you  for  it,  but 
you  have  been  led  to  do  what  you  ought  not  to  have 
done." 

"  Then  you  condemn  me,  do  you,  cousin  ? "  said  she 
in  a  lively  manner. 

"  Yes,  yes, — condemn — yes — I  disapprove — it  is  one 
thing  to  condemn,  and  another  thing  to  disapprove. 
To  omit  the  cause  of  the  cause  of  the  cause  of  the  thing 
caused,  we  will  be  content  with  the  causation  of  the 
thing  caused,  and  this  was  love.  What  you  have  done 
was  not  done  out  of  malice,  if  so  we  must  have  con- 
demned the  thing,  but  out  of  love,  and  if  so  we  must 
disapprove,  nQt  love  the  cause,  but  the  thing  caused 
by  love :  now  answer  me,  is  that  which  causes  a  bad 
thing  a  good  thing  or  a  bad  thing? " 

"Why,  a  bad  thing  to  be  sure,"  said  she. 

"  Is  love  a  good  thing  or  a  bad  thing?  " 

"Why,  a  good  thing,  certainly,"  said  she. 

"  Is  robbing  another  of  the  thing  that  is  his,  a  good 
thing  ? " 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  it  is  a  bad  thing." 

"  Is  the  cause  of  a  bad  thing  a  good  thing  or  a  bad 
thing  ? " 

"  Why  it  must  be  a  bad  thing." 
[375] 


Wqt  H?t$tori?  of  Spr.  iflotm  EDccastro 

"Then,"  said  he,  " if  you  have  answered  rightly,  love 
cannot  be  a  good  thing  if  it  causes  a  bad  thing." 

"You  blockhead,"  said  Genevieve,  "how  you  twist 
one  about ! — when  I  said  love  was  a  good  thing,  I 
meant  a  good  thing  in  itself." 

"But,"  said  he,  "when  I  asked  you,  if  the  cause  of  a 
bad  thing  were  a  good  thing  or  a  bad  thing,  what  did 
you  answer  ? " 

"  Why,  I  own,  I  said  it  must  needs  be  a  bad  thing," 
said  she. 

"  Did  you  answer  right  or  wrong?  "  said  he. 

"  Why,  I  answered  without  feeling  my  ground,"  said 
she,  "  I  confess." 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  is  robbery  a  bad  thing  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  Is  to  steal  a  child  from  its  parents  a  good  thing  or 
a  bad  thing  though  caused  by  a  good  thing  ?  "  said  he. 

"  How  you  tangle  things  together,"  said  she,  "  I  can't 
say  yes  and  no  at  the  same  time." 

"True,"  said  he,  "but you  can  say  no,  first,  and  then 
you  can  say  yes,  afterwards :  can  the  same  thing  be  a 
good  thing  at  the  same  time  and  a  bad  thing  ? " 

"  No,  you  blockhead,"  said  she. 

"  What  causes  a  bad  thing  is  bad,  or  what  shall  we 
say  ? " 

"  Why  certainly,"  said  she. 

"  Then  if  a  good  thing  causes  a  bad  thing  the  same 
thing  is  a  good  thing  and  a  bad  thing,  or  shall  we  deny 
it  ? " 

"You  fool,"  said  she,  "I  know  very  well  what  I 
mean  but  I  cannot  speak  it  out." 

"Is  the  thing  you  would  speak  out  if  you  could  a 
right  thing  or  a  wrong  thing?  "  said  the  philosopher. 
[376] 


{Etje  $?i0tor£  of  £0t.  3|ot)n  HDecastto 

"Why,  it  is  a  right  one,"  said  she. 

"Perhaps  you  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "that  it  is  the 
use  which  we  put  a  thing  to  makes  it  right  or  wrong, 
good  or  bad  ?  " 

"Now  you  have  hit  it,"  said  she,  "that  is  what  I 
would  say." 

"Then,"  said  he,  "did  you  put  your  love  for  George 
and  Julia  to  a  right  use  when  you  robbed  George's 
parents  of  their  child  ?  "  She  was  silent.  "  If  you  put 
it  to  a  wrong  use,"  continued  the  philosopher,  "your 
love,  according  to  your  own  account  of  the  matter,  was 
a  bad  thing  and  a  wrong  thing,  or  how  shall  we  unsay 
what  we  have  said  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  never  can  talk  to  you 
as  I  can  to  any  body  else,"  said  Genevieve,  "whether 
you  are  a  greater  fool  than  any  body  else,  or  whether  I 
am  a  greater  fool  than  you,  or  whether  two  great  fools 
cannot  talk  together,  or  for  whatever  reason  it  is  " — 

"  What  is  a  fool  ?  "  said  the  philosopher. 

She  hesitated. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  us  go  and  look  the  word  out 
in  the  dictionary,  for  we  don't  seem  to  know  what  it  is, 
and  then  we  may  know  if  it  means  you  or  me." 

"Why,  you  great  dunce,"  said  she,  "I  know  well 
enough  what  it  is  without  looking  it  out  in  the  dic- 
tionary." 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  It  is  an  idiot,"  said  she. 

"  That  is  only  another  word  for  the  same  thing,  when 
I  ask  for  a  definition,"  quoth  the  philosopher. 

"  What  is  a  definition  ?  "  said  she. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  it  tells  us  to  what  set  of  things 
any  thing  belongs,  and  tells  us  too  how  it  differs  from 
[377] 


tEtje  pi&toty  of  Wv.  31oIjn  2Decastro 

other  things.  Now  a  wise  man  belongs  to  one  set  of 
things,  and  a  fool  to  another,  because  they  differ,  but 
if  I  were  to  ask  you  if  a  fool  in  the  form  of  a  man  were 
a  man,  or  a  wise  person  in  the  form  of  a  man  were  a 
man,  you  would  say  what  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  she,  "I  should  say  they  were  so  far 
both  of  them  men." 

"  Well,  that  is  the  set  of  things  to  which  they  belong 
so  far,  but  then  comes  the  difference,  that  is,  between 
a  wise  man  and  a  fool,  and  what  is  it  ? " 

"Why,"  said  she,  "want  of  understanding." 

"Well,  that  may  do,"  quoth  the  philosopher:  "now 
can  you  tell  what  is  the  definition  of  a  fool  ?  " 

"O  yes,"  said  she,  "a  man  that  wants  understand- 
ing." 

"  How  did  you  answer  then  at  first,  like  a  wise 
woman,  or  a  foolish  one  ?  " 

Genevieve  gave  the  philosopher  a  box  on  the  ear : 
upon  which  he  snatched  up  his  Aristotle  and  ran  out 
of  the  house.  Genevieve  jumped  up  to  stop  him,  but 
he  was  out  of  sight  in  a  moment.  She  was  very  much 
in  love  with  him,  and  was  sadly  afraid  that  she  had 
offended  him,  and  fell  to  abusing  herself  for  what  she 
had  done,  when  old  nurse  returned  with  a  note  of  in- 
vitation for  her  to  the  castle. 

We  must  now  follow  George  Grove  back  again  to 
Bath,  whither  he  went  with  a  resolution  to  refuse  Lady 
Charlotte's  hand  at  the  altar.  This  match  was  a  money 
job  on  the  part  of  Lord  Budemere,  to  which  Mr. 
Grove,  quite  that  sort  of  fish  to  be  catched  with  a  title, 
was  drawn  by  the  wily  peer,  who  so  managed  the  mat- 
ter as  to  lay  him  under  a  legal  tie  to  advance  his  lord- 
ship fifty  thousand  pounds  on  the  day  after  the  mar- 
[378] 


tEtjc  unstorp  of  Mt.  31ofm  EDrcastro 

riagc,  his  lordship  standing  sorely  in  need  of  a  little 
ready  cash  just  at  that  time.  Lady  Charlotte's  fortune 
left  her  by  an  aunt  was  fifty  thousand  more,  now,  she 
being  come  of  age,  in  her  own  possession.  His  lord- 
ship made  an  attempt  to  get  hold  of  the  key  of  her 
ladyship's  strong  box,  by  holding  out  an  estate  by  way 
of  pledge  to  her,  as  well  as  to  Mr.  Grove,  for  the  pay- 
ment of  the  money  at  his  death,  engaging,  in  the  mean 
time,  to  pay  interest,  on  which  the  young  couple  were 
to  live.  Lady  Charlotte  said,  "  if  she  gave  up  her 
money  to  any  body  it  should  certainly  be  given  up  to 
her  father,"  but  told  the  lawyers  that  it  was  quite  as 
safe  in  her  own  pocket.  This  gave  the  peer  a  fit  of 
the  colic;  he  and  his  stomach,  however,  were  left  to 
shift  for  themselves;  he  made  sure  of  Mr.  Grove's 
money,  at  all  events,  who  was  tied  down  safe  enough 
to  his  bargain,  by  Petticraft  and  the  rest  of  the  lawyers ; 
and  had  gone  so  far  as  to  vest  the  money  in  his  bank- 
er's hands,  ready  for  an  order. 

Lady  Charlotte,  upon  meeting  George  Grove  at  his 
return,  shook  hands  with  him,  and  said,  "  It  is  well,|Mr. 
Grove,  that  Jenny  has  not  swallowed  you  alive — or  did 
she  gulp  you  down  and  then  cast  you  up  again,  as  the 
whale  served  poor  Jonah  ?  If  you  really  and  truly  did 
go  down  her  throat,  clothes  and  all,  pray,  how  long  did 
you  stay  in  her  stomach,  and  how  did  you  like  your 
new  habitation  ?  A  full  and  true  account  of  your  travels 
down  the  red  lane,  and  what  happened  to  you  after- 
wards, were  very  well  worth  publishing,  and  would 
make  me  some  amends  for  having  you  snatched  out  of 
my  mouth,  ami  pushed  into  another's  in  this  rude 
manner." 

George  then  told  his  story  with  a  melancholy  face; 
[379] 


Slje  $?i0torp  of  $$t.  3flotm  SDrcastro 

when  she  replied,  "How  far  you  have  done  right  I 
shall  not  pretend  to  say ;  but  this  I  will  say,  that  if  I 
had  been  in  your  place,  and  loved  Julia  better  than  I 
had  loved  Charlotte  Orby,  I  would  have  made  a  far 
different  use  of  my  liberty  than  you  did." 

"  What  would,  what  could  your  ladyship  have  done  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  Done !  "  said  she ;  "  you  have  not  half  spirit  enough 
for  a  lover;  I'd  have  pounced  upon  Julia  like  an  eagle, 
thrust  her  into  Jenny's  carriage,  and  whisked  her  off 
to  Gretna  Green  to  the  old  blacksmith,  got  well  riv- 
etted,  and  left  her  to  preach  her  sermons  at  her  leisure. 
Come,  come,  this  is  a  good  sign  after  all — you  must 
love  me  best  of  the  two,  or  you  never  could  have  let 
slip  such  an  opportunity  as  seldom  falls  to  the  share  of 
any  lover." 

" Upon  my  honour,  and  upon  my  soul,"  said  he,  "I 
do  not — I  should  be  a  villain  if  I  deceive  you." 

"Then,"  said  she,  "I  will  marry  you  on  purpose  to 
plague  you  for  leaving  Julia,  who  is  dying  for  you,  in 
the  lurch,  when  you  might  have  been  man  and  wife  by 
this  time — just  as  if  a  man  who  was  really  and  truly  in 
love  would  have  stood  gaping  and  staring  at  a  parson 
in  petticoats — 'twas  nothing  but  a  little  prudishness 
which  she  put  on  to  try  you,  and  was  most  lamentably 
disappointed  at  finding  such  a  poor  creature,  instead  of 
a  young  man  of  spirit  and  gallantry — O  Mr.  Grove,  Mr. 
Grove,  the  ladies  will  laugh  at  you  as  long  as  you  live." 

Saying  which,  she  danced  out  of  the  room  singing  a 
sprightly  air,  ran  up  into  her  bed-chamber,  and  burst 
into  tears.  This  was  a  very  odd  thing,  but  her  lady- 
ship's feelings  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  just  made 
her  escape  in  time. 

[380] 


X£\)t  imstory  of  $$t,  3f|oljtt  SDccastro 

Lord  and  Lady  Budemere,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove,  and 
others  of  their  party,  expecting  no  other  impediment 
to  their  wishes,  gave  their  time  to  visitings  and  amuse- 
ments, in  order  to  allow  George  Grove,  who  was  ill,  a 
little  space  to  recruit  his  strength  before  another  day 
was  fixed  for  his  nuptials. 

Lady  Charlotte,  who  could  put  on  twenty  differ- 
ent faces,  and  make  every  one  become  her  too,  was 
sometimes  serious,  sometimes  gay,  and  played  so 
many  tricks  that  some  thought  she  had  grown  tired  of 
her  wits,  and  was  going  to  run  out  of  them,  or  beside 
them. 

During  the  interval  between  George's  return,  and 
the  second  day,  which  was  now  fixed,  a  matter  came  to 
pass,  which,  falling  in  regular  order  of  time,  must  be 
given  some  account  of  before  we  proceed  to  the  catas- 
trophe of  his  matters  with  Lady  Charlotte  Orby. 

This  was,  the  return  of  Frederick,  Mr.  Decastro's 
eldest  son,  to  England,  with  his  two  friends  Dogger 
and  Barret,  who,  after  running  about  the  continent  for 
their  own  amusement,  had  taken  up  their  abode  in 
Paris,  and  got  so  much  in  debt  in  it  that  they  were 
forced  to  run  out  of  it,  or  they  might  have  staid  a  little 
longer  in  it  than  had  been  agreeable.  But,  although 
Dogger  and  Barret  had  been  imprudent  enough,  Fred- 
erick loved  his  own  ease  too  well  to  get  into  debt  for 
more  than  he  were  able  to  pay,  nor  had  he  done  so,  but 
that  his  remittances  from  England  had,  upon  some 
account,  been  withheld,  and  he  was  forced,  though 
sorely  against  his  will,  to  come  home  to  look  into  the 
matter.  The  murder  of  his  brother  and  the  fear  of 
being  put  in  mind  of  his  faults  by  the  hangman,  had 
kindled  a  hell  within  him  which  tormented  him  with 
[38i] 


&\)t  J?t0tot^  of  ®0t.  31otjn  SDecastto 

unremitting  fires,  although  no  search  had  been  made 
for  him,  Old  Crab  having  been  overruled  in  that 
matter. 

The  first  thing  he  did  upon  his  landing,  after  having 
punished  his  agent  for  playing  the  rogue  with  his 
money,  was  to  change  his  name,  and  put  on  a  disguise. 
Taking  a  house  near  the  banks  of  the  river  Dee,  which 
had  belonged  to  a  smuggler,  he  lived  like  a  gentleman 
with  a  pretty  fortune.  This  house  had  subterranean 
passages  under  its  foundation,  which  led  to  secret  caves 
and  cellars,  excavated  by  the  late  owner,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  concealing  smuggled  goods,  to  which  Frederick, 
who  sometime  or  other  might,  as  he  thought,  be  glad 
enough  of  a  hiding-place,  had  not  the  least  objection. 
With  this  view  he  furnished  two  of  the  largest  of  these 
vaults,  which,  conveniently  enough,  communicated  with 
each  other,  putting  a  bed  into  one,  and  making  a  little 
parlour  of  the  other,  which  had  a  fire-place  in  it,  for  the 
purpose  of  keeping  the  goods  dry  that  were  deposited 
in  these  vaults,  the  chimney  joining  one  in  the  house 
above  in  a  very  secret  manner.  He  was  assisted  by 
the  said  smuggler,  who,  still  retaining  the  use  of  the 
other  vaults,  felt,  at  least,  an  equal  interest  in  keeping 
the  matter  concealed. 

This  smuggler  was  the  noted  "  Blazing  Jack,"  as  he 
was  called,  a  fellow  whom  Frederick  held  in  his  pay, 
and  for  this  purpose,  viz. :  If  he  should  happen  to  find 
the  land  too  hot  to  hold  him,  he  might,  at  any  time, 
secure  an  outlet  by  water,  the  smuggler  having  always 
boats  at  hand.  By  this  it  will  be  seen  what  a  very 
troublesome  thing  guilt  is,  and  what  pains  bad  men  are 
put  to  to  guard  themselves  at  all  points.  But  we  can- 
not dwell  on  this  matter  any  longer  than  to  say,  that 
[382J 


Stje  $nstort>  of  SRr.  31olm  EDfcastro 

Frederick,  having  settled  all  matters  to  his  mind  in  this 
place,  came  at  this  time  to  Bath  with  his  friend  Barret, 
who  was  advised  to  try  the  waters  for  the  gout.  Fred- 
erick had  not  been  many  days  in  this  city  before  he 
found  out  that  his  uncle,  Lord  Budemere,  was  there,  and, 
as  great  folks  and  their  concerns  are  in  everybody's 
mouth,  found  out  also  that  his  cousin,  Lady  Charlotte, 
was  come  there  to  be  married  to  George  Grove. 

Frederick,  who  did  not  care  how  little  of  his  face 
was  seen,  wore  a  huge  beard,  passed  for  an  Italian  Jew 
of  great  opulence,  and  spoke  broken  English.  Petti- 
craft  the  attorney,  who  was  a  sort  of  money-hunter  for 
Lord  Budemere,  soon  heard  of  him,  and,  getting  his 
address,  called  on  him  and  sounded  him  a  little  on  the 
lending  key.  Frederick,  finding  it  to  be  his  uncle  who 
wanted  to  borrow,  said  he  had  no  more  than  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds  in  the  English  funds,  in  a  friend's  name, 
which  he  could  immediately  put  his  hand  upon ;  but,  if 
he  approved  the  securities,  could,  within  twelve,  or 
fourteen  months  at  the  farthest,  command  three  times 
that  sum.  Petticraft  was  one  who  always  thought  a 
man  could  not  have  too  much  ground  to  stand  upon, 
and,  knowing  Lady  Charlotte's  fortune  to  be  under  her 
own  lock  and  key,  was  willing  to  guard  the  noble  earl 
against  all  accidents.  He  therefore  waited  upon  him 
with  this  piece  of  good  news,  and  Frederick  had  the 
impudence  to  receive  his  uncle  at  his  lodgings,  darken- 
ing his  room  a  little  under  pretence  of  weak  eyes.  His 
design  in  this  cannot  but  be  obvious  enough ;  to  ex- 
plain it,  however,  to  such  as  may  be  a  little  dull  of  ap- 
prehension, Frederick,  after  he  had  approved  of  his 
uncle's  securities,  and  promised  him  what  money  he 
might  want  upon  them  as  far  as  they  held  out,  asked 
[383] 


tEtje  $?tstorp  of  tyv.  3|otm  Decastro 

his  lordship  if  his  countess  were  not  some  relation  to 
his  old  friend  Mr.  Decastro  of  Oaken  Grove  ? 

"  Is  Mr.  Decastro  an  old  friend  of  yours,  sir?  "  said 
the  earl. 

Frederick  said  he  had  seen  much  of  him  in  Italy, 
and  they  had  been  very  intimate  friends  there  and  much 
together.  Having  thus  broached  the  matter,  he  craft- 
ily enough  drew  out  of  his  uncle  every  thing  which  he 
wanted  to  know  about  his  father  and  his  family,  their 
designs,  and  plans,  and  found  himself  to  be  in  less 
danger  than  he  was  at  all  aware  of. 

"As  for  that  villain  Frederick,"  said  the  earl,  "it 
was  reported  that  he  left  the  kingdom  soon  after  his  at- 
tempt on  his  brother's  life  and  was  dead,  but  the  fam- 
ily had  come  to  a  resolution  to  make  no  inquiries  after 
him,  his  design  to  assassinate  his  brother  having  come 
to  no  harm ;  he  thought  the  feelings  and  credit  of  the 
family  better  consulted  in  so  doing,  and  had  voted  on 
his  part  that  the  matter  might  be  dropped ;  indeed,  if 
vengeance  at  all  weighed  in  the  matter,  it  was  thought 
that  the  punishment  would  be  more  severe  to  let  him 
wander,  if  alive,  a  vagabond  upon  the  earth,  bereft  of 
his  patrimony  and  his  friends,  a  martyr  to  his  own  con- 
science, than  to  bring  him  to  justice  for  what  he  had 
done." 

Frederick  did  not  much  like  the  taste  of  this  part  of 
his  uncle's  talk,  and  turned  the  conversation  to  other 
matter,  but  the  answers  to  his  questions  were  not  much 
more  to  his  liking,  for  he  was  informed  that  his  brother 
was  alive  and  to  come  in  for  his  estates,  and  that  he  was 
soon  to  be  married  to  a  rich  cousin  of  his,  Miss  De 
Roma.  Though  his  lordship  spoke  a  little  gratis  here, 
every  body  saw  how  fond  Genevieve  was  of  Acerbus, 
[384] 


GTtje  toistotp  of  $>r.  3f|otm  EDecastro 

and  might  easily  forelay  the  event  of  such  her  fondness. 
This  intelligence  came  into  Frederick's  heart  like  a 
bullet,  and  put  him  so  much  off  his  guard,  that  he  owed 
a  good  deal  more  to  the  darkness  of  the  room,  and  the 
excellence  of  his  disguise,  than  to  his  presence  of  mind, 
for  his  concealment.  The  earl  asked  him  what  it  was 
that  disturbed  him  so  much  ?  He  said  that  the  Miss 
De  Roma,  whom  he  had  named,  had  used  his  son  very 
ill  who  had  paid  his  addresses  to  her. 

"I  heard,"  replied  his  lordship,  "that  some  foreign 
person  had  paid  his  addresses  to  my  niece  " — (his  lord- 
ship meant  Baron  Rump) — and  was  going  on,  when 
Frederick,  having  got  what  he  wanted,  said  he  had 
some  business,  and,  giving  his  lordship  his  address  in 
Bath,  where  he  said  he  might  be  heard  of  at  any  time 
within  fourteen  months,  the  earl  made  his  speeches  and 
his  bow  and  left  the  room. 

As  soon  as  his  uncle  was  gone,  he  started  out  of  his 
chair,  and,  pacing  furiously  about  his  apartment,  gave 
vent  to  the  tempest  in  his  mind.  The  thought  that 
Acerbus,  whom  he  mortally  hated,  should  take  the  es- 
tates which  ought  to  come  to  him,  and  marry  Genevieve 
too,  whom  he  loved  both  for  her  person  and  her  money, 
and  by  whom  he  had  been  so  harshly  rejected,  almost 
made  him  mad.  Colonel  Barret,  who  had  been  to  the 
baths,  now  came  in,  and  Frederick  told  him  all  that  had 
passed  between  himself  and  his  uncle,  and  fell  to  vow- 
ing vengeance  against  Genevieve  and  his  brother,  of 
whose  resurrection  from  the  dead  and  good  prospects 
in  life  he  fully  informed  the  colonel.  Barret,  who  had 
likewise  been  refused  by  Genevieve,  to  whom  he  also 
had  paid  his  addresses,  willingly  enough  came  into 
Frederick's  plan  of  revenge,  and  promised,  with  an  oath, 
25  [385] 


dftje  loiatoty  of  spr.  Jflotm  SDecastro 

to  give  him  all  the  assistance  in  his  power  m  any 
plot  against  her;  and  a  dreadful  plot  was  formed  by 
them  and  one  Dogger,  who  soon  after  joined  them  in 
Bath. 

Frederick,  who,  like  the  devil  in  Milton,  was  the  cap- 
tain of  his  gang,  as  soon  as  the  scheme  was  formed, 
offered,  like  old  Satan,  to  take  the  dangerous  part  upon 
himself,  to  go  to  Oaken  Grove  upon  an  expedition  of 
inquiry,  and  see  how  the  land  lay  for  the  execution  of 
his  plot.  They  were  detained,  however,  some  time  in 
Bath  by  Colonel  Barret's  illness,  the  waters  having 
brought  on  a  fit  of  the  gout  which  laid  him  under  the 
scourge  for  some  time. 

We  have  an  opportunity  here  to  give  a  short  account 
of  Barret's  sufferings  and  terrors,  who  was  brought 
into  great  danger  by  the  gout,  sometimes  in  his  head, 
and  sometimes  in  his  stomach,  so  much  so  as  to  be  at 
one  time  given  over  by  his  physicians,  and  advised  to 
get  ready  to  die.  In  this  extremity  he  sent  for  Fred- 
erick to  his  bed-side,  told  him  that  he  heartily  repented 
of  uniting  with  him  in  a  plot  against  Genevieve,  and 
called  heaven  to  witness  that  if  he  were  permitted  to 
get  the  better  of  his  disease,  that  he  would  have  no 
hand  in  it  whatever.  Having  much  lamented  this  and 
many  other  bad  things,  he  made  his  will,  and,  bequeath- 
ing all  the  money  which  he  had  got  by  the  devil's  help, 
in  two  equal  shares  to  his  friends  Dogger  and  Fred- 
erick, laid  his  head  upon  his  pillow,  and  said,  he  be- 
lieved that  he  should  go  to  hell.  His  disorder,  how- 
ever, took  a  favourable  turn ;  a  regular  fit  of  the  gout 
came  into  his  hands  and  feet,  and  in  six  weeks'  time  he 
was  upon  his  legs  again,  and  better  in  health  than  he 
had  been  for  many  years,  for  the  gout  had  the  same 
[386] 


{£tje  distort?  of  $)r.  3!ot)it  EDrcastro 

effect  as  a  thunder  storm  has  in  the  air,  it  cleared  his 
constitution.  Now  the  devil,  whom  the  gout  had 
driven  out  of  Barret  amongst  other  bad  matters,  came 
back  again  with  Barret's  health  and  spirits ;  his  great 
fright  was  made  a  jest  of  by  himself  and  his  friends, 
and  they  left  Bath  with  a  determination  to  put  their 
plot  into  execution  against  Genevieve. 

Of  this  matter  thus  far :  we  must  now  return  to 
George  Grove  and  Lady  Charlotte  Orby;  but  the 
reader,  perhaps,  will  be  glad  of  a  little  rest  here,  we 
will  therefore  consult  his  ease,  and  break  this  chapter 
into  two  pieces  for  that  purpose. 


[387] 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

In  Continuation. 

Lady  Charlotte  was  in  a  situation  very  little  to 
be  envied  by  some,  though,  perhaps,  it  might  be  even 
prayed  for  by  others,  who  take  it  into  their  heads  that 
they  only  want  opportunities  to  be  great  heroines, 
which,  if  it  were  an  easy  thing  to  be,  would  be  no  mat- 
ter of  admiration. — Lady  Charlotte  was  in  love  with 
George  Grove  and  loved  Julia  at  the  same  time,  though 
these  two  were  very  different  passions :  in  a  word,  after 
weighing  matters  much  in  her  mind,  she  came  to  a 
resolution  not  to  marry  George,  though  she  loved  him, 
and  knew  she  might  have  him  if  she  pleased,  nay,  that 
he  would  be  absolutely  forced  upon  her  whether  she 
would  or  not ;  and  this  her  resolution  was  a  very  noble 
resolution,  and  taken  for  the  sake  of  George  and  Julia, 
for  she  loved  them  both,  as  we  have  said :  but  how  this 
her  resolution  was  to  be  made  good  was  now  to  be  con- 
sidered. It  was  certainly  a  great  sacrifice  on  her  part, 
and  had  great  merit,  and  the  more  so  as  she  kept  it  a 
secret,  and  did  a  good  thing  for  the  sake  of  the  thing, 
and  not  for  the  sake  of  getting  praised  for  it :  and  it 
came  to  our  knowledge  by  a  very  strange  accident, 
which  the  reader  must  content  himself  not  to  know : 
now,  by  the  way,  the  true  heroine  never  does  any  thing 
for  the  sake  of  praise  or  admiration,  she  is  always  above 
such  things,  and  that  it  is  which  makes  her  one.  The 
doing  any  thing  and  putting  it  out  to  the  public  view  in 
[383] 


&\)t  piston1  of  $0v.  Jiotjn  SDcrastro 

order  to  get  praised  for  it,  has  nothing  great  in  it,  but 
something  that  is  very  little.  Lady  Charlotte  had  her 
faults,  and  the  means  she  took  to  get  rid  of  George 
Grove  may  be  by  some  put  down  amongst  them,  and 
by  others  again  scored  amongst  her  virtues,  we  shall 
leave,  however,  the  matter  to  be  sifted  by  such  as  will 
take  the  liberty  to  think  themselves  very  wise  in  spite 
of  others,  and  their  stars  to  boot,  and  quit  this  tattle  to 
come  back  to  our  history. 

Her  ladyship  coming  into  the  room  with  her  eyes  red 
and  wet,  her  mother  asked  her  what  she  had  been  cry- 
ing for  ?  She  said  she  had  been  crying  because  she 
wanted  to  be  married . 

"Well,"  said  Lady  Budemere,  "the  day  is  not  at  any 
great  distance,  cannot  you  be  content  to  wait  a  few- 
days  for  a  husband  ?  " 

"  A  husband  !  "  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "  what  do  you 
mean  by  a  husband  ? " 

"  Why,"  said  Lady  Budemere,  "  by  a  husband  I  mean 
Mr.  George  Grove;  you  will  be  married  to  Mr.  George 
Grove,  and  then  you  will  have  a  husband." 

"Mr.  George  Grove  would  be  a  husband  indeed, 
mamma,"  said  she,  "but  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  have 
him,  there's  no  such  good  news." 

"Heavens!  Charlotte,"  said  Lady  Budemere,  "you 
must  have  lost  your  wits ;  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
every  thing  is  settled,  and  as  soon  as  Mr.  George  Grove 
gets  a  little  better  you  will  be  married." 

"I  will  not  believe  it,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "nor 
would  I  have  you  believe  it,  mamma. — In  the  first  place 
Julia  is  too  good  to  be  deprived  of  him;  in  the 
second  place,  he  is  too  good  to  be  mine ;  and  in  the 
third  place,  I  am  not  good  enough  to  be  his ;  so  if 
[389] 


QLty  history  of  tyt.  3!otm  2Decastro 

common  justice  be  done  I  am  sure  we  shall  never  come 
together." 

"  You  like  to  hear  yourself  talk,  Charlotte,"  replied 
the  countess;  "there  is  nothing  now  like  to  hinder 
matters,  Julia  herself,  you  find,  would  not  have  him,  but 
absolutely  laid  her  commands  on  him  to  return  to  his 
father  and  his  duty,  so  you  need  not  stick  any  longer 
at  Julia,  she  has  discarded  him,  you  see,  and  he  is  and 
will  be  all  your  own ;  all  objections  on  that  point  are 
done  away,  she  has  turned  her  thoughts  to  the  young 
farmer,  that  is  plain  enough." 

"  No,  but  she  has  not  though — I  am  sure  of  that  by 
what  I  have  been  told  by  George  Grove,  mamma ;  she 
would  have  him  and  be  glad  to  have  him,  but  told  him 
she  would  not  marry  him  to  make  herself  and  him  mis- 
erable, which  would  be  if  she  could  not  have  him  as  she 
ought  to  have  him,  with  the  consent  of  all  parties ;  you 
see  with  what  notions  Julia  has  been  bred,  Julia  will 
die,  and  be  glad  to  die  rather  than  do  a  wrong  thing : 
now  if  ever  a  good  girl  met  with  her  reward  on  earth 
she  will  have  George  —  put  my  words  down."  The 
countess  laughed.  "You  may  laugh,  mamma,  but  she 
will  have  him  for  all  that : — I  know  I  shall  never  have 
George,  and  that  makes  me  cry,  because  I  love  George 
and  cannot  get  him,  and  never  shall,  so  don't  be  so  silly 
as  to  make  a  fuss  about  nothing,  with  your  preparations 
for  a  wedding  that  will  never  be  while  the  sun  shines 
in  the  sky." 

"  The  sun's  shining  time  is  like  soon  to  be  over  then," 
said  the  countess  with  another  laugh,  "  for  all  parties 
are  now  agreed  upon  the  thing,  and  nothing  but  the 
death  of  one  or  both  of  you  can  hinder  it,  Charlotte." 

"  How  sure  we  can  be  of  a  thing,  mamma,"  said 
[39°] 


Qfyt  $?i0tory  of  tyt.  3iotm  H>cca0tro 

Lady  Charlotte,  "  when  we  are  not  at  all  sure  of  it  at 
the  same  time ! — Go  and  fetch  George  and  we  will  be 
married  in  the  garrets  now  this  moment,  and  then  you 
shall  lock  us  in  and  put  the  key  in  your  own  pocket, 
mamma,  it  is  the  only  way  to  make  a  sure  thing  of  it, 
for  if  Jenny  should  lay  her  great  claws  upon  him  a 
second  time  she  may  eat  him  if  she  happens  to  be  in 
the  humour,  and  not  leave  me  a  bit.  But,  after  all,  if 
Julia  keeps  George's  heart  I  shall  make  but  a  bad 
match  of  it, — yet  surely  if  he  had  not  liked  me  the  best 
he  never  would  have  come  back  to  me :  for  what  other 
reason  could  he  have  for  running  away  from  Julia  ? 
But  the  worst  of  it  is,  he  has  such  a  regard  for  duty, 
and  such  nonsense,  I  know  he  had  rather  die  than  dis- 
obey his  father  and  mother,  if  they  roasted  a  cat  and 
bade  him  eat  it.  I  shall  always  be  in  doubt  about  his 
heart,  however,  and  what's  Mr.  Grove  to  me  if  Julia 
keeps  the  best  part  of  him  ?  It  may  look  a  little  bold, 
perhaps,  but  I  am  determined  to  examine  Mr.  Grove 
before  I  go  any  further  in  this  thing ;  and  if  you  and 
Mrs.  Grove  are  in  the  room  at  the  time  there  will  be 
no  great  harm  in  it ;  I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know 
whether  he  will  marry  me  because  he  likes  me  better 
than  Julia,  or  because  he  is  afraid  his  mamma  should 
whip  him  if  he  does  not." 

George  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  her  ladyship 
went  on — "  Come,  Mr.  Grove,  stand  here  at  my  knee,  I 
must  ask  you  some  questions :  Do  you  know  that  we 
are  to  be  married  in  a  few  days  ? " 

"I  do,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh. 

"  What  do  you  sigh  for  ?  because  it  is  so  long  to  wait 
for  me  ? " 

"  No,"  said  he. 

[39i] 


Wnt  tyttftorp  of  a^r.  3Jotm  HDctagtro 

"  Now  pray,  Mr.  Grove,  answer  me,  when  two  folks 
are  to  be  married,  don't  you  think  they  ought  to  like 
one  another  better  than  every  body  else  ? " 

"  I  do,"  said  he. 

"  Come,  sir,  mind  you  answer  me  as  you  ought  to 
do,  or  your  mamma  has  promised  to  whip  you." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Charlotte,"  said  George,  with  a  sad 
face,  "  pray  don't  talk  in  this  manner,  indeed  I  am  in 
no  humour  for  a  jest,  indeed  I  am  not." 

"There is  no  jest  in  the  case,  sir: — tell  me,  has  Julia 
your  heart,  or  has  she  not  ?  answer  me,  for  if  she  has 
I  will  not  marry  you,  I  won't  indeed :  a  fine  thing  truly, 
if  Julia  is  to  keep  the  pearl  and  leave  me  to  put  up  with 
the  shell.  I  am  in  earnest ;  which  of  us  do  you  like 
the  best  ?  tell  me  this  moment." 

"  My  dear  Lady  Charlotte,  I  wish  I  could  be  merry 
with  you — but  you  must  excuse  me." 

Upon  which  he  was  going  away,  when  her  ladyship 
ran  to  the  door  after  him,  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and 
brought  him  back,  and  said,  "  You  take  it  into  your 
head  that  you  are  doing  a  fine  thing  to  sacrifice  me,  and 
yourself  too,  to  a  whim  of  your  father's, — yet  I  beg  to 
say,  that  whatever  you  may  think  about  doing  your 
duty  to  your  father,  in  giving  yourself  up  to  his  freaks, 
your  duty  to  your  neighbour  may  go  a-begging, 
and  your  duty  to  yourself  may  go  after  it.  Have 
you  no  consideration  for  Julia,  or  for  me?  are  we 
to  be  made  fools  of?  or,  to  go  no  further,  will  you 
do  me  the  greatest  injury  in  your  power,  for  I  had 
rather  you  would  cut  my  head  off  than  marry  me 
and  love  another,  because  you  must  needs  stick 
at  nothing  to  obey  your  father's  orders  ?  You  must 
excuse  me,  Mr.  Grove,  'tis  time  to  speak  our 
[392] 


(Et>e  toistoty  of  $0t.  Jfjolin  Dccast to 

minds,  do  you  love  Julia  at  this  moment  better  than 
me  ? " 

"  My  dear  Lady  Charlotte,  I  could  love  you,  indeed 
I  could,  but  you  well  know  Julia  has  my  heart." 

"This  is  very  fine,"  said  her  ladyship,  "is  not  this 
very  fine?  Sooner  than  marry  a  man  without  a  heart 
I'll  marry  an  ox." 

"Come,"  said  Lady  Budemere,  "you  will  carry  the 
jest  too  far,— all's  settled  now,  you  know,  Charlotte." 

"All's  settled,  mamma,  pray  who  is  Mr.  All?  I 
shall  beg  to  tell  this  Mr.  All  in  his  ear,  that  he  shall 
not  make  me  and  my  friends  miserable ;  I  did  not  know 
if  Mr.  Grove  might  not  like  me  better  than  Julia,  buc 
he  still  sticks  to  Julia  and  I  can't  blame  him  for  that, 
— and  I  am  sure  it  will  never  be  a  match."  Lady 
Budemere  laughed,  and  asked  her  how  she  came  to 
take  that  into  her  head  ?  "  Because,  mamma,  I  am 
sure  Julia  is  too  good,  and  Mr.  Grove  too  good,  to  be 
made  wretched  all  their  lives." 

"  You're  a  comical  girl,  Charlotte,"  said  the  countess. 
At  that  moment  Petticraft,  the  attorney,  came  in  and 
said  that  Lord  Budemere  wished  to  speak  with  Lady 
Charlotte  in  the  next  room. 

"Charlotte,"  said  his  lordship,  "we  cannot  go  on 
here  without  you;  Mr.  Petticraft  will  explain  the 
thing." 

Petticraft,  taking  some  skins  of  parchment  in  his 
hands,  spake  thus :  "  It  appears  by  your  aunt's  will,  my 
lady,  that  your  ladyship  comes  into  full  possession  of 
your  ladyship's  fortune  at  the  age  of  one  and  twenty, 
and  it  appears  here  by  an  extract  from  the  register  of 
the  parish  wherein  your  ladyship  was  christened,  that 
your  ladyship  hath  already  arrived  at,  and  fully  com- 
[393] 


(EJje  tyistors  of  tyt.  3|otjn  2Deca0tto 

pleted  the  said  term  aforesaid:  therefore,  my  lady, 
your  ladyship  is  now  whole  and  sole  mistress  of  your 
ladyship's  fortune,  left  your  ladyship  by  your  ladyship's 
aunt  Margaret,  to  all  intents  and  purposes  whatever: 
now  for  and  in  consideration  of  Mr.  Grove  having  laid 
himself  under  legal  tie,  here  it  is,  to  pay,  or  cause  to 
be  paid,  into  my  lord  your  ladyship's  father's  hands,  or 
to  his  order,  the  sum  of  fifty  thousand  pounds  in  law- 
ful money  of  Great  Britain,  for  his  whole  and  sole  use, 
and  to  be  his  own  true  and  lawful  property,  to  do  with 
the  said  sum  of  money  as  to  him  it  shall  seem  good,  save 
and  except  the  interest  thereof,  for  the  payment  where- 
of certain  lands  thereunto  fully  competent  will  be  sad- 
dled and  charged,  your  ladyship  is  desired  to  make 
over,  pay,  or  cause  to  be  paid  into  his  lordship's  your 
ladyship's  father's  hands,  or  to  his  order,  fifty  thousand 
pounds,  being  the  whole  of  your  ladyship's  fortune,  for 
his  whole  and  sole  use,  and  to  be  his  own  true  and  law- 
ful property  to  do  with  the  same  as  to  him  it  shall  seem 
good,  save  and  except  the  interest  thereof,  for  the  pay- 
ment whereof  certain  lands  thereunto  fully  competent 
will  be  saddled  and  charged,  as  in  Mr.  Grove's  case 
aforesaid :  provided  always  that  his  lordship,  for  him- 
self and  his  heirs,  covenants  and  agrees  to  make  the 
lands  aforesaid  responsible  for  the  said  two  sums  of 
fifty  thousand  pounds  each,  to  be  duly  and  truly  paid 
at  his  death,  to  him  the  said  Mr.  Grove,  and  his  heirs, 
and  to  you,  or  to  whom  your  ladyship  shall  direct  or 
appoint— furthermore " 

"Pray,  sir,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "when  is  Mr. 
Grove  bound  to  pay  down  his  fifty  thousand  pounds  ? " 

"The  next  day  after  the  solemnization  of  the  mar- 
riage, my  lady." 

[394] 


i&ty  $?i0ton?  of  $)r.  lo^n  SDrca0tw 

"  Mr.  Grove  is  a  prudent  man ;  and  as  for  my  money, 
sir,  I  will  keep  it  in  my  own  pocket ;  my  papa  will  have 
quite  trouble  enough  with  Mr.  Grove's  money,  so  I 
think  it  best  not  to  add  to  it ;  therefore,  Mr.  Petticraft, 
I  will  keep  my  money  in  my  own  pocket  as  afore- 
said." 

"  But,  my  lady,  when  your  ladyship  is  married,  your 
ladyship's  husband  will — " 

"O  sir,  let  not  that  trouble  you — I  know  how  to 
keep  things  in  my  own  pocket — I'll  be  husbanded  by 
no  husbands,  I  nor  my  money  either,  and  as  to  my  poor 
papa,  he  will  have  trouble  enough  of  his  own  without 
my  charging  or  saddling  him,  as  you  call  it,  with  my 
fortune:  I  am  sure  my  papa  only  wishes  to  put  my 
money  in  a  safe  place,  but  it  is  put  into  a  very  safe 
place  already,  videlicet,  in  my  own  pocket,  and  there  it 
will  lie  till  I  please  to  move  it." 

"Mr.  George  Grove  has  the  character  of  a  very  sober 
steady  young  man,"  said  Petticraft,  "but,  my  lady,  we 
cannot  tell  what  turn  the  young  gentleman  may  take." 

"O  sir,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "let  him  take  what 
turn  he  will,  he  never  will  turn  my  money  out  of  my 
pocket,  I  have  taken  care  of  that." 

"  You  have,  my  lady,  have  you  ? — put  it  under  trust, 
perhaps,  or " 

"  I  will  save  you  the  trouble  of  fishing  for  it,  sir,  you 
will  not  know  any  thing  about  the  matter,  so  set  your 
heart  at  rest : "  saying  which  she  left  his  lordship,  and 
the  lawyers,  to  their  parchments  and  their  meditations, 
and  Lord  Budemere,  for  some  reason,  said  not  a  word. 

Now  it  happened  on  the  day  when  all  was  ready  for 
the  marriage,  and  a  world  of  fine  folks  were  come,  Mr. 
Grove,  who  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance,  came  into 

[395] 


&ljr  distort?  of  fl£r.  2fiot)n  ZDerastro 

the  church  in  great  agitation,  seized  his  son  George 
violently  by  his  arm,  pulled  him  out  of  the  place  by 
main  force,  and  left  all  the  said  fine  folks  with  their 
eyes  a  yard  wide  open. 

"If  people  go  on  so,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "I  must 
die  an  old  maid  at  last !  " 

"Verily,"  quoth  Doctor  Fiftycox,  D.D.,  "we  can  do 
nothing  in  the  way  of  matrimony  without  a  bride- 
groom," and,  shutting  up  his  book,  put  those  muscles 
in  motion,  which  under  due  directions,  move  a  man  out 
of  a  church.  This  move  of  the  doctor's  did  not  take 
place,  however,  until  Lord  Budemere,  who  followed  Mr. 
Grove,  to  bring  him  and  the  bridegroom  back  perhaps, 
returned,  and  said,  that  he  got  out  just  in  time  to  see 
Mr.  Grove  put  the  bridegroom  into  a  coach,  and  drive 
off  with  him,  and,  as  he  guessed  by  the  great  trunks 
buckled  upon  it,  had  no  mind  to  stop  at  a  mile's  end. 

"Now,"  said  Lady  Charlotte,  "what  a  pretty  fool  I 
look  like !  Come  papa,  let  us  all  get  into  our  carriages, 
and  have  another  run  after  Mr.  George  Grove ;  we  had 
better  do  any  thing  than  stay  in  Bath  to  be  laughed  at." 

Now,  in  a  fit  of  astonishment,  whether  the  mind  is 
too  much  engaged  with  the  oddity  of  some  wonderful 
occurrence  to  take  any  care  of  the  muscles  which  keep 
the  mouth  shut,  or  however  the  matter  be,  the  lower 
jaw  is  apt  to  drop  and  leave  the  same  wide  open,  this, 
let  the  learned  account  for  it,  was  just  the  case  in  the 
church,  where  fifty  people  were  assembled  to  see  a 
wedding  which  they  did  not  see,  and  the  best  reason 
we  can  give  for  that,  is,  because  there  was  not  one : 
recovering  presently  from  this  apoplectic  stroke,  all  the 
tongues  in  the  place  began  to  move,  to  pour  out  notes 
of  admiration  at  what  had  befallen,  and  every  body  said 
[396] 


t£\)t  tatorr  of  $*r.  31otjn  SDfcastro 

that  it  was  the  oddest  thing  they  had  ever  seen  in  their 
lives — which  now  remains  to  be  accounted  for. 

This  is  a  very  bad  business,  and  we  could  be  glad, 
for  obvious  reasons,  to  bury  it  in  oblivion,  but  fifty 
stories  are  got  abroad  upon  it,  and,  as  good  luck  would 
have  it,  not  only  not  one  out  of  the  fifty  is  the  right 
story,  but,  bad  as  the  truth  is,  every  one  is  worse  than 
the  truth,  which  now  remains  to  be  told.  A  man's 
vices  are  sure  to  keep  a  rod  in  pickle  for  him ;  the  Earl 
of  Budemere  is  one  instance  out  of  many.  A  man  may 
hold  two  churches  by  dispensation,  but  he  cannot,  in 
England,  get  a  dispensation  for  holding  two  wives ;  so 
Lord  Budemere  held  two  without  one,  and,  not  content 
with  this,  committed  adultery  with  another  man's  wife 
into  the  bargain.  A  pretty  brood  of  chickens  to  be 
hatched  under  one  hen,  but  such  is  the  fact.  One 
would  think  the  world  might  be  satisfied  with  such  a 
story  as  this,  but  the  liquor  is  never  strong  enough  for 
such  as  are  used  to  drink  drams.  If  a  duel  or  two,  or 
a  murder  could  come  in,  how  nice  it  would  make  the 
story !  and  they  were  put  in,  for  the  earl  was  said  to 
have  fought  two,  and  killed  one  man  upon  the  spot. 
We  must  peel  off  these  duels  and  this  murder,  how- 
ever, as  dirt  which  the  story  has  picked  up  by  rolling 
about  in  a  world  which  is  not  very  clean. 

There  were  no  such  things — for  Colonel  R.  agreed 
to  compromise  his  wife's  honour  for  a  sum  of  money 
now  under  demand ;  and  Miss  F's  family,  who  were 
extremely  poor,  were  to  be  bought  off  too.  These  two 
sore  places,  unluckily  for  Lord  Budemere,  wanted  plas- 
ters at  the  same  time,  and  put  him  into  great  perplex- 
ity, for  the  demands  were  high,  and  his  lordship's  affairs 
in  a  very  shattered  condition.  The  reader  sees  plainly 
[397] 


W$t  Jetton?  of  90t.  31oljn  EDeeastro 

what  a  timely  supply  Mr.  Grove's  fifty  thousand  pounds 
were  like  to  be,  and  Lady  Charlotte's  fortune  too,  if  it 
could  have  been  come  at,  but  her  ladyship  took  better 
care  of  the  key  of  her  strong  box. 

We  need  not  draw  Miss  F's  family  out  of  its  obscur- 
ity any  further  than  to  say  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  a  very  worthy  clergyman,  who  was  too  well  guarded 
against  accidents  for  his  lordship  to  get  possession  of 
her  in  any  other  way  than  by  marrying  her  under  a 
feigned  name,  which  he  made  no  scruple  to  do,  without 
any  fear  of  the  countess  before  his  eyes.  How  the 
devil  brings  a  man  into  trouble  and  leaves  him  in  the 
middle  of  it !  A  rheumatic  gout  brought  the  reverend 
Mr.  F.  to  Bath  a  little  time  before  George  Grove  was 
to  be  married  to  Lady  Charlotte,  and  a  very  few  days 
after  Colonel  R.  had  hid  himself  and  his  butler  in  his 
wife's  room,  and  detected  his  lordship  in  a  situation 
which  cannot  be  named.  Storms  sometimes  follow 
one  another.  Lady  Charlotte,  who  left  no  stone  un- 
turned for  a  plot  to  break  off  the  match  with  George 
Grove,  and  had  formed  a  scheme  for  that  purpose  which 
perhaps  would  have  done  for  want  of  a  better,  but  a 
better  was  found — Lady  Charlotte  was  walking  in  Bath 
one  evening,  and  had  left  her  footman  to  bring  some 
parcels  which  she  had  bought,  when  she  met  Lord 
Budemere  coming,  not  in  a  run,  but  very  near  it,  who, 
seeing  her,  took  the  first  turn  and  disappeared  in  a 
moment  without  staying  to  answer  a  question  which 
she  put  to  him,  which  somewhat  surprised  her  ladyship. 
Presently  she  met  an  old  gentleman  coming  on  two 
crutches,  who  seemed  to  be  in  chase  of  something  with 
all  his  impediments,  for  he  was  in  a  heat  and  a  bustle, 
and  asked  her  which  way  the  gentleman  were  gone 
[398] 


tEtje  iiymoty  of  $$t.  3fiofcn  2>eca0tro 

whom  she  had  just  met  ?  Her  ladyship  plainly  saw, 
from  his  agitated  manner,  that  he  had  some  very  par- 
ticular engagement  with  her  father,  and  was  curious 
enough  to  pump  the  old  man  upon  two  sticks  for  the 
matter : 

"  Do  you  know  that  gentleman,  sir,"  said  she,  "  who 
just  passed  me  ?  " 

"  Know  him  ?  "  quoth  the  old  man,  "  yes,  very  well 
— he  is  my  son-in-law." 

Lady  Charlotte  would  have  kept  her  colour  if  she 
could,  but  she  turned  pale,  and,  being  a  rosy  girl,  it 
could  not  escape  any  who  could  see  a  woman's  face  by 
day-light. 

"Madam,"  said  the  old  man,  "if  [  may  be  so  free, 
will  you  allow  me  to  ask  you  what  it  is  in  what  I  have 
said  that  turns  you  so  pale  ? " 

"  O,"  said  she,  "  the  person  of  whom  you  spoke  is  a 
relation  of  mine,  that's  all." 

"  If  that  is  the  case  we  are  related  too,  madam  ;  for 
that  gentleman,  whom  you  call  your  relation,  has  mar- 
ried my  daughter." 

Lady  Charlotte  could  not  keep  herself  quiet  for  her 
heart,  but  changed  colour  and  panted,  and  tried  to 
conceal  her  agitation,  which  made  it  worse. 

"I  beg  for  your  excuse,  madam,"  said  the  old  man; 
"  but  will  you  favour  me  so  far  as  to  say  if  this  person 
be  nearly  related  to  you,  or  not  ?  " 

"He  is  only  my  father,  sir,"  said  she. 

"Then your  name," continued  he,  "must  be  Morris." 

"No,  sir,"  said  she,  "my  name  is  not  Morris." 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  think  me  too  bold,"  said  he, 
"  but  may  I  beg  for  your  name,  madam  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  at  all  surprised  at  your  curiosity,  sir," 
[399] 


W$t  ^tatorp  of  i$r.  31otjn  SDecastro 

said  she,  "  for  I  own  I  have  at  this  moment  quite  as 
much  as  you — and  if  you  will  answer  me  all  my  ques- 
tions I  will  as  faithfully  answer  all  yours — to  begin,  my 
name  is  Lady  Charlotte  Orby,  and  his  name,  who  is 
oddly  enough  become  the  subject  of  our  conversation, 
is  the  Earl  of  Budemere." 

The  old  man  took  a  step  or  two  back  and  dropped 
his  shoulder  against  the  wall  of  a  house  to  support  him. 
Lady  Charlotte  gave  the  old  gentleman  what  assistance 
she  could,  and  sent  her  footman,  who  then  came  up, 
for  a  chair.  The  old  man  was  put  into  it,  and  the 
chairmen,  taking  the  direction  where  to  go,  carried  him 
away. 

Lady  Charlotte  excused  the  thing  to  her  servant  by 
saying  the  old  man  was  taken  ill  in  the  street,  and 
walked  home.  As  soon  as  it  grew  a  little  dark  Lady 
Charlotte,  who  took  care  not  to  forget  the  old  gentle- 
man's address,  wrapped  herself  up  in  a  cloak  and  slipped 
out  unobserved,  and  coming  to  the  door  of  a  house  in 
an  obscure  street,  knocked  at  it,  when  a  beautiful  young 
woman  neatly  dressed  came  and  asked  her  for  her 
errand.  Her  ladyship  said  she  was  ordered  by  Lady 
Charlotte  Orby,  to  inquire  how  the  old  gentleman  did 
whom  she  had  sent  home  in  a  chair?  " 

"It  was  my  father,"  said  she,  "and  I  humbly  thank 
her  ladyship  for  her  goodness  to  him ;  he  is  gone  to 
bed,  for  he  said  he  was  a  little  worse  this  evening ;  and, 
indeed,  that  was  all  he  did  say." 

"  Pray,  madam,"  said  her  ladyship,  "  will  you  allow 
me  to  ask  if  you  are  Mrs.  Morris  ?  "  She  said  she  was. 
"I  am  a  little  tired,"  said  her  ladyship,  "may  I  beg  a 
chair  for  five  minutes  ? " 

She  was  then  shown  into  a  neat  little  parlour,  and 
[400] 


(Elje  piston?  of  m.  31otm  Drcastro 

sitting  down,  said  she  knew  Mr.  Morris  very  well. 
Lord  Budemere  had  carried  on  his  intrigue  in  this  poor 
family  with  such  an  air  of  mystery  as  had  excited  no 
small  curiosity  in  it  about  him,  which  made  the  poor 
young  woman  eager  enough  to  ask  questions,  by  which 
Lady  Charlotte  soon  found  that  the  old  gentleman  had 
retired  without  telling  his  daughter  the  news  which  he 
picked  up  in  the  street.  Her  ladyship  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  leave  it  to  another  to  explain  matters,  so,  by 
evading  some  questions,  asking,  and  answering  others, 
she  fished  out  the  following  facts:  That  she,  Mrs. 
Morris,  met  with  his  lordship  in  a  stage-coach,  who 
came  into  it,  as  she  thought,  for  no  other  reason  than 
because  she  was  in  it,  that  he  followed  her  into  Corn- 
wall, and  took  a  lodging  in  her  village,  that  he  made 
several  attempts  to  get  her  for  his  mistress,  and,  find- 
ing at  last  all  means  vain  except  honourable  ones,  he 
paid  his  addresses  to  her,  and  had  been  married  to  her 
two  years  and  an  half,  the  fruits  of  which  marriage 
were  two  fine  babes  which  she  then  shewed  to  her  lady- 
ship. Pressed  as  he  had  often  been  both  by  herself 
and  her  relations  to  say  who  he  was,  and  what  were  his 
family,  he  always  declined  giving  any  account  of  such 
matters  upon  account  of  a  quarrel  in  it,  and  why  that 
should  be  the  reason  of  his  concealment  he  would  not 
say.  He  always  had  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  from 
his  air  and  manner  seemed  to  be  some  superior  person : 
used  to  leave  her  at  times  for  two  months  together, 
going  to  London,  as  he  said,  to  try  to  make  up  family 
broils,  and  would  be  so  engaged  very  often  as  to  stay 
only  a  few  clays  with  her ;  his  manner  was  very  kind 
and  attentive  to  her,  he  seemed  very  fond  of  her  little 
ones :  her  father,  she  added,  was  come  to  Bath  for  the 
26  [4QI] 


tE^e  ^tettirp  of  tyt.  31ot)it  SDecastro 

use  of  the  waters,  and  they  had  left  a  letter  for  him, 
should  he  come,  for  he  was  not  at  home  when  they 
came  away,  to  say  that  they  were  gone  to  Bath. 

Lady  Charlotte  then  left  the  house,  saying,  that  it 
were  not  unlikely  that  she,  or  Lady  Charlotte  Orby 
herself,  might  call  the  next  day,  who,  she  added,  felt 
very  much  upon  her  father's  account.  After  this  curi- 
ous adventure  some  wet  days  and  a  bad  cold  confined 
her  ladyship  to  her  room  for  a  week,  who,  after  a  good 
deal  of  balancing  matters  in  her  mind,  came  to  a  deter- 
mination to  keep  the  thing  a  secret  for  the  present,  but 
soon  took  an  opportunity  to  call  on  Mrs.  Morris,  whom 
she  found  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  her  father  having 
communicated  the  sad  news  to  her  that  her  husband 
was  none  other  than  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  then  living 
with  his  countess  in  Bath. 

While  they  were  talking,  the  poor  girl's  father  came 
in,  and  Lady  Charlotte  said  she  had  taken  the  liberty 
to  call  to  ask  him  how  he  did,  and  was  glad  to  see  that 
he  had  left  off  his  sticks.  He  said  her  ladyship  did 
him  much  honour,  that  he  was  much  better,  and  be- 
lieved the  great  distress  and  agitation  of  his  mind  had 
been  so  far  of  use  to  him  as  to  remove  his  complaint ; 
that  since  he  met  her  ladyship  in  the  street,  and  he 
begged  again  to  thank  her  for  her  kind  assistance,  he 
had  sent  several  letters  to  the  Earl  of  Budemere,  but 
could  get  no  answer  to  any  but  the  last,  in  which  he 
had  found  himself  under  a  necessity  to  mix  threats  with 
entreaties.  He  had  consulted  a  lawyer  on  his  case, 
(who  happened  to  be  Petticraft,  his  lordship's  solicitor,) 
and  was  advised  by  him,  having  clue  regard  to  his  lord- 
ship's high  rank,  to  come  to  some  private  compromise 
in  the  business,  which  might  be  done  without  making 
[402] 


(Etje  toistoty  of  £l9r.  3iotjn  SDpcastro 


any  disturbance  in  his  lordship's  family.  He  had  held 
off,  however,  and  thought  that  such  crimes  ought  not 
to  lie  hid,  that,  be  the  man  what  he  might,  he  ought  to 
be  made  a  public  example,  and  in  the  mind  he  then 
was,  such  was  his  determination. 

Lady  Charlotte  said  that  the  injury  which  her  father 
had  done  his  family  was  certainly  extremely  serious,  so 
much  so  that  it  could  be  by  no  means  repaired.  She 
was  of  opinion,  however,  that  it  were  better  to  follow 
the  advice  of  the  lawyer,  and  make  no  noise  in  the 
business. 

"The  mouse,"  said  her  ladyship,  "had  best  let  the 
lion  alone ;  you  are  sir,  none  other  than  a  poor  curate, 
as  your  daughter  informs  me,  and  as  little  able  to  stand 
your  ground  in  this  thing  as  the  little  creature  which  I 
have  just  named  against  the  king  of  the  beasts." 

He  made  answer,  "that  her  ladyship's  comparison 
had  nothing  to  do  with  him  ;  he  lived  in  a  country  that 
would  give  him  justice  if  he  asked  for  it,  and,  weak  as 
he  might  be,  he  would  do  his  best  to  pull  such  a  huge 
mass  of  guilt  into  the  sight  of  the  world." 

"You  may  conceive,  sir,"  said  she,  "what  1  must 
feel  upon  this  shocking  subject ;  1  have  kept  it  at  pres- 
ent a  secret  in  my  breast." 

The  old  man  said  it  should  not  be  a  secret  long;  he 
felt  much  for  her  ladyship,  and  others,  as  innocent  as 
herself,  but  he  expected  the  lawyer  presently,  meaning 
Petticraft,  and  was  determined  to  prosecute  such  a  vil- 
lain with  the  utmost  rigour  of  the  law.  He  made  an 
apology  to  her  ladyship  for  using  so  harsh  a  word,  but 
hoped  that  the  agonies  of  his  mind  might  excuse  an 
intemperate  expression. — Lady  Charlotte  said,  she  was 
ready  to  make  every  allowance,  and  taking  a  promise 
[  403  ] 


Wqt  J?i0tori?  of  $0t.  3|otjn  SDccastro 

that  every  word  which  had  passed  between  herself  and 
them  should  be  strictly  kept  a  secret,  left  the  house, 
and,  concealing  herself  in  a  corner,  saw  Petticraft  go 
into  it.  Lawyers,  who  live  and  breathe  amidst  storms 
and  tempests  and  outrageous  passions,  are  never  so 
much  in  their  element  as  when  all  the  elements  are  in 
disorder.  Petticraft  advised  the  poor  parson  to  be 
quiet,  told  him  that  his  lordship  had  some  good  livings 
in  his  gift,  and  one  likely  soon  to  fall,  of  five  hundred 
pounds  a-year ;  he  would,  if  he  pleased,  call  on  his  lord- 
ship and  see  what  could  be  done  for  him. 

"It  would  be  to  put  a  living  to  a  fine  use,"  said  the 
old  gentleman,  "  to  stop  a  hole  in  my  daughter's  repu- 
tation with  a  church  steeple ! — I'll  die  starved  to  death  in 
my  curacy  before  I  will  take  the  best  benefice  on  earth 
by  way  of  compromise  for  my  daughter's  infamy !  " 

"  We  must  be  a  little  cool  in  these  matters,"  said 
Petticraft,  "  and  not  quarrel  with  our  bread  and  butter, 
sir ;  you  will  see  things  in  a  better  light  when  the  sky 
clears  a  little ;  if  this  be  a  sin,  for  so  you  will  call  it  I 
suppose,  what  can  be  a  better  expiation  for  it  than  a 
church  ? " 

Petticraft,  however,  might  have  talked  his  tongue  to 
a  cinder  before  he  could  have  persuaded  the  parson 
from  making  a  public  exposition  of  his  lordship  in  the 
mind  he  then  was.  He  was  a  poor  man  himself,  it  was 
true,  but  he  had  rich  friends  who  would  support  him ; 
so  he  sent  Petticraft  with  terms  of  defiance  to  Lord 
Budemere,  who,  with  great  difficulty,  and  with  the  as- 
sistance of  all  Petticraft's  art,  bought  the  parson  off 
with  a  promise  of  twenty  thousand  pounds,  and  a  day 
fixed  for  payment. 

This  was  one  of  the  uses  to  which  Mr.  Grove's 
[404  J 


Wtyt  l?istoi£  of  $®v.  ^lotjn  EDecastro 

money  was  to  be  put.  The  other  was  as  follows:  Lord 
Budemere  had  made  a  very  low  bow  to  a  colonel's  lady, 
as  aforesaid,  this  was  very  true,  but  that  he  fought  and 
shot  the  colonel  was  not  quite  so,  for  the  colonel  died 
of  a  fever,  and  not  of  a  gunshot  wound.  Petticraft,  a 
useful  man,  was  employed  in  this  affair  also.  Of  the 
fact  there  could  be  no  doubt,  since  the  colonel  himself 
and  his  servant  were  concealed  in  his  wife's  apartment. 
Petticraft  advised  his  lordship  not  to  come  to  a  trial, 
and  the  colonel  took  ten  thousand  pounds,  and  a  day 
fixed  for  payment.  So  his  lordship  stuck  spurs  to  the 
affair  between  George  Grove  and  Lady  Charlotte  in 
order  to  get  hold  of  Grove's  cash  as  soon  as  possible. 
How  Lady  Charlotte  picked  up  intelligence  of  this  last 
affair,  is  not  known,  but  it  is  supposed  to  have  come 
through  a  servant  whom  she  had  lately  hired  from  the 
colonel's  house.  Be  that  as  it  may,  her  ladyship  was 
in  full  possession  of  all  these  gay  exploits  of  her  father, 
and  sent  an  anonymous  letter  to  Mr.  Grove  containing 
an  accurate  account  of  both,  the  uses  to  which  his 
money  was  to  serve,  and  a  reference  to  Petticraft  for  a 
proof  of  all ;  who,  as  soon  as  he  read  the  letter,  went 
to  the  lawyer  without  a  moment's  delay.  Petticraft, 
after  a  little  hesitation,  which  was  of  little  use,  upon 
being  pressed  home,  said,  that  however  Mr.  Grove 
came  by  his  knowledge,  all  was  certainly  true. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Petticraft,"  whispered  Mr.  Grove  in 
his  ear,  "we  are  bound  in  honour  to  keep  his  lordship's 
secrets,  it  is  all  mighty  well — good  morning,  good  Mr. 
Petticraft ;  "  saying  which,  he  walked  out  of  the  lawyer's 
chambers  upon  his  tiptoes,  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  dis- 
turbing Mr.  Petticraft's  family.  What  followed  has  al- 
ready been  said. 

[405] 


CHAPTER   XXX 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  George  Grove  return  to  Hindermark  from  Bath 
— News  arrives  at  Oaken  Grove  of  George  Grove  and 
Lady  Charlotte's  Marriage — The  Countess  of  Budemere 
and  Lady  Charlotte's  Arrival  at  the  Castle — Lady  Char- 
lotte falls  in  love  with  Harry  Lamsbroke. 

The  right  honourable  the  Earl  of  Budemere  was 
now  left  in  no  very  pleasant  situation.  The  day  was 
at  hand  for  the  payment  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  to 
the  poor  parson,  and  the  day  was  likewise  at  hand  for 
the  payment  of  ten  thousand  pounds  to  the  colonel,  but 
the  day  was  not  at  hand  which  was  to  put  the  ready 
money  into  his  lordship's  hand  to  make  good  the  said 
payments  in  hand.  The  first  thing  he  did,  was  to  con- 
sult Petticraft  on  the  business,  who,  cunning  as  he  was, 
could  not  put  his  lordship  in  any  way  to  pay  thirty 
thousand  pounds  without  money.  There  was  but  a 
fortnight  to  come  for  the  colonel,  and  a  week  for  the 
parson.  Feeling  himself  in  a  dilemma,  after  consulting 
the  lawyer,  his  lordship  consulted  his  heels,  and  ran 
away  from  Bath  to  attend,  as  he  said,  a  call  of  the 
House.  Two  lucky  things  happened,  however;  an  old 
incumbent  died  about  this  time,  and  gave  his  lordship 
an  opportunity  of  presenting  the  poor  parson  to  a  liv- 
ing of  five  hundred  pounds  a-year,  which  the  old  gen- 
tleman, after  a  little  pause,  was  wise  enough  to  accept, 
finding  nothing  else  was  to  be  had.  The  other  fortu- 
nate event  was  that  the  colonel  died  of  a  fever,  which 
rubbed  the  rest  of  the  chalk  off  the  wall.  Instead, 
[406] 


<£tje  history  of  $j)r.  3iotjn  £>ecastro 

however,  of  attending  to  the  calls  of  the  House,  Lord 
Budemere  packed  up  his  matters  and  left  the  kingdom 
to  shift  for  itself;  or,  in  other  words,  finding  no  good 
to  be  done  in  it  he  ran  out  of  it,  and  visited  foreign 
parts. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Grove  packed  up  George  and  brought 
him  back  to  Hindermark  without  speaking  a  loud  word, 
and,  though  George  expressed  his  astonishment  by  ask- 
ing one  thousand  six  hundred  and  fifty-seven  questions 
touching  one  head,  viz.,  how  he  came  not  to  be  married 
to  Lady  Charlotte  Orby,  he  got  nothing  for  his  pains 
but  this  short  sentence — "George,  you  may  go  and 
marry  your  milkmaid  if  you  will,  for,  before  I  will  call 
Budemere  'brother,'  I  will  see  him  at  the  devil!" 
These  words  were  uttered  in  the  breakfast-parlour  at 
Hindermark,  at  three  and  forty  minutes  after  nine 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  as  loud  as  Mr.  Grove  could  roar 
for  his  heart.  Mrs.  Opossum,  the  housekeeper,  being 
great  with  child,  and  opening  the  said  breakfast-parlour 
door  with  a  bill  of  fare  in  her  hand,  was  so  alarmed  at 
hearing  such  an  unusual  sound  proceed  from  the  mouth 
of  Mr.  Grove,  that  she  fell  in  travail  and  came  at  seven 
months  with  three  children. 

"'Sume  my  body!"  quoth  Old  Comical,  "if  Mr. 
Grove  had  spoken  another  loud  word,  if  all  the  children 
hadn't  run  out  of  the  world  back  again  as  fast  as  they 
came  into  it ! " 

After  his  lordship's  departure  the  Countess  of  Bude- 
mere took  it  into  her  head  that  she  would  not  stay  any 
longer  in  Bath  by  herself,  and,  whether  pricked  by 
curiosity  to  ask  the  reason  why  Mr.  Grove  had  spoiled 
the  wedding,  or  because  she  had  a  mind  to  get  as  far 
from  Bath  as  possible,  or  because  her  landlord  would 
[407] 


X&\)t  piston?  of  $£r,  31o^in  SDecasftio 

not  trust  any  longer  for  his  rent,  or  because  she  had 
got  the  fidgets,  or  for  all  these  reasons  put  together, 
she  ordered  four  post-horses  to  be  put  to  her  carriage, 
took  Lady  Charlotte  with  her,  and  made  the  best  of  her 
way  to  Oaken  Grove,  where  she  arrived  without  meet- 
ing with  any  accident  worth  recording  in  this  our  his- 
tory, except  drinking  a  gill  of  fine  Cognac  on  the  road 
for  a  cruel  fit  of  the  colic,  which,  being  a  noble  medi- 
cine for  the  wind,  gave  her  ladyship  instant  relief. 

Matters  at  Oaken  Grove  stood  in  a  row  as  follows : 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Decastro  were  in  good  health  at  the  cas- 
tle, though  not  quite  so  young  as  they  were,  reader, 
when  we  last  parted  from  them.  Acerbus,  the  philos- 
opher, was  come  home,  as  aforesaid,  for  the  vacation 
had  commenced,  and  had  brought  with  him  his  cousin, 
Harry  Lamsbroke,  a  brother  Oxonian,  and  very  inti- 
mate friend;  of  whom,  if  we  have  not  already  spoken, 
we  shall  soon  say  a  great  deal.  News  had  come  to  the 
castle  that  Frederick  had  left  England,  but  what  part 
of  the  globe  was  enlightened  by  his  countenance  no 
astronomer  could  tell  at  that  time.  Old  Crab  and  his 
wife  jogged  on  at  the  farm  as  usual,  but  poor  Julia's 
forlorn  state  hung  like  a  black  cloud  upon  their  house. 
Old  Comical  had  got  possession  of  his  five  thousand 
pounds  by  the  help  of  Old  Crab,  left  him  in  his  father's 
will,  and  was  just  returned  from  a  visit  to  Cock-a- 
doodle,  where  he  left  his  brother,  the  squire,  in  a  very 
ill  state  of  health ;  his  laughing  fits  had  been  more  fre- 
quent and  violent  of  late,  and  weakened  him  a  great 
deal.  The  love-sick  Julia  resided  altogether  at  the  cas- 
tle with  her  cousin  Genevieve,  who  nursed  her  with 
the  affection  of  a  sister,  visited  at  times  by  Dr.  Gros- 
venor,  a  very  worthy  physician,  who,  out  of  gratitude 
[408] 


tEljr  i?t0tory  of  $)r.  31otjn  E>cca0tro 

for  a  good  turn  done  him  by  Old  Crab,  paid  his  visits 
without  being  paid,  and  gave  his  directions  without 
taking  any  fees ;  it  was,  he  said,  the  most  extraordinary 
case  of  attachment  that  had  ever  come  within  his 
knowledge,  and  was  of  opinion  that  it  would  end  fatally, 
unless  the  object  of  her  affections  could  be  obtained  for 
her.  He  was  sorry  to  say  that  she  gradually  grew 
worse,  and,  though  the  steps  by  which  she  was  de- 
scending were  very  slow,  she  still  continued  to  descend, 
and,  if  some  relief  were  not  speedily  to  be  had,  she 
must  come  to  the  ground.  Gentlemen  of  his  profes- 
sion out  of  tenderness,  perhaps,  were  too  apt  to  conceal 
these  things ;  he  felt  it,  however,  to  be  his  duty  to  give 
notice  in  these  cases,  and  conceived  that  the  force  of  a 
blow  might  be  in  some  degree  broken  by  its  being 
foreseen. 

Old  Crab  received  this  intelligence  .with  his  usual 
fortitude:  "Look  you,  doctor,"  said  he,  "I  look  upon 
my  poor  wench  as  already  lost,  and  I  never  looked  upon 
her  as  any  other  than  a  thing  that  might  be;  he  that 
reckons  upon  a  thing  as  out  of  danger,  because  he  sees 
no  danger,  is  a  fool :  there  is  a  parting  clause,  doctor, 
in  the  conditions  upon  which  we  receive  every  thing  on 
earth ;  he,  therefore,  that  falls  out  with  the  lease  by 
which  he  holds  things  here,  is  an  ass.  God's  will  be 
done ! " 

The  doctor  saw  a  drop  of  water  upon  Old  Crab's 
face,  but  took  no  notice  of  it.  Let  it  not  be  thought, 
that  because  Genevieve  was  never  at  rest  when  Julia 
was  out  of  her  sight,  or,  indeed,  when  she  was  in  it, 
that  she  was  at  all  neglected  by  others.  Her  father 
and  mother  paid  her  every  attention,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Decastro  shewed  her  every  care,  Acerbus,  the  philoso- 
[409] 


W)t  piston?  of  tyx.  3iotjn  SDccastro 

pher,  woukLsit  and  read  in  her  room,  Harry  Lamsbroke 
could  scarce  speak  to  her  without  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
Old  Comical,  who  ran  on  all  her  errands  between  the 
farm  and  the  castle,  said  Lady  Charlotte  deserved  to 
die  an  old  maid  with  nothing  but  a  torn  cat  for  her  hus- 
band, for  robbing  his  young  mistress  of  her  sweet- 
heart: thus  stood  matters  at  Oaken  Grove  at  this  time. 
By  a  rule  of  precedence,  a  lie,  as  it  is  fitting,  goes 
first,  and  truth  follows  after.  One  came,  and  a  great 
one  too,  with  speed,  to  wit,  that  the  ceremony  was 
over,  and  Lady  Charlotte  and  George  Grove  were  mar- 
ried. A  friend  had  writ  to  the  butler  at  the  castle  to 
say,  that  he  had  been  present,  and  saw  them  married 
with  his  own  eyes.  Alas !  this  news  soon  reached  poor 
Julia's  ears,  which,  indeed,  had  this  comfort  in  it,  that 
she  was  sure  matters  could  now  be  no  worse,  and  to 
know  the  worst  of  a  thing  may  be  the  best  part  of  bad 
news.  She  said  she  had  long  been  prepared  to  hear  it, 
but  she  thought  that  her  sorrows  would  be  short.  It 
grieved  her,  however,  to  think  that  she  had  borne  her 
trial  so  peevishly.  She  loved  Lady  Charlotte,  she  said, 
and  wished  her  happy ;  she  would  have  been  glad  if 
her  unfortunate  attachment  could  have  been  kept  a 
secret,  she  had  been  a  weak  girl,  and  hoped  for  the  ex- 
cuse of  all.  On  the  other  hand,  this  news  put  Gene- 
vieve into  a  rage.  She  had  expected,  if  Lady  Charlotte 
were  sincere  in  her  friendship  for  the  beautiful  milk- 
maid, that  she  would  have  broken  the  match  by  some 
sleight  of  hand;  she  had,  indeed,  some  hope  in  this, 
and  upon  this  ground  she  had  stood,  but  this  news 
pushed  her  off,  and  she  fell  into  despair.  She  left 
Julia's  apartment,  where  she  was  sitting  at  the  time  it 
came — brought  in  by  an  officious  maid-servant,  who 
[410] 


Ctje  Uptfitonj  of  $)r.  31oljn  2E>ctastro 

thought  the  best  thing  she  could  do  was  to  tell  the 
worst  news — and  ran  out  into  the  park  to  give  vent  to 
the  storm  within  her. 

It  came  to  pass  as  she  was  pacing  about,  weeping, 
talking  to  herself,  striking  her  forehead  and  raving  like 
one  out  of  her  senses,  at  a  sudden  turn  she  bounced 
against  Lady  Charlotte,  who  had  taken  it  into  her  head 
to  get  out  of  the  carriage  and  walk  up  the  hill  from 
the  ferry  towards  the  castle.  She  stared,  at  first,  like 
one  who  had  a  mind  to  disbelieve  her  own  eyes,  and 
taking  a  step  or  two  back,  as  if  Lady  Charlotte  was 
too  near  to  be  seen — "  So !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  your  lady- 
ship is  married,  I  hear !  " 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  my  ladyship  is  not  married,  there's 
no  such  good  news." 

"  Not  married !  "  said  Genevieve,  if  raving  can  be 
called  speaking. 

"  Not  married,  I  say,"  replied  Lady  Charlotte. 

"Why,"  said  Genevieve,  "a  man  has  sent  a  letter 
from  Bath  to  say  that  he  saw  you  married  with  his  own 
eyes !     What  d'ye  think  of,  that  my  lady  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I  think  that  there  is  certainly  one 
man  in  Bath  who  can  tell  a  lie  to  keep  up  the  credit  of 
the  place." 

"  Your  ladyship  may  be  an  instance  that  a  lie  can  be 
told  out  of  Bath  as  well  as  in  it.  Your  ladyship's  fine 
feelings  may  prompt  you  to  deceive  us  out  of  mere 

tenderness,  perhaps "  and  here  she  stopt  to  pant, 

for  she  was  half  choked  with  passion. 

"  My  ladyship  has  no  such  meaning,"  said  Lady 
Charlotte ;  "  fine  feelings,  indeed !  better  have  no  feel- 
ings at  all  than  feel  as  I  feel !  I  wish  all  sort  of  feel- 
ings were  at  the  deuse !  fine  feelings !  I  was  carried 
[4ii] 


GTije  ^tetorp  of  tyt.  ^joljn  Deeastw 

to  church  as  a  bride,  and  brought  back  a  great  fool ! 
What  have  they  done  with  Mr.  George  Grove  ? " 

"  Done  with  George  Grove !  "  said  Genevieve ;  "  why, 
they  took  him  to  Bath  to  be  married  to  your  ladyship — 
and  married  you  are,  put  what  face  you  please  upon  it, 
madam." 

"Married!"  said  Lady  Charlotte;  "for  a  poor  girl 
to  be  hoaxed  in  this  manner  were  enough  to  drive  her 
mad !  married,  indeed !  I  have  been  hoaxed,  and  fooled, 
and  laughed  at — any  thing  but  married!  I  am  no 
bear,  you  need  not  be  afraid  I  should  bite  you !  " 

"  Is  it  possible !  "  said  Genevieve ;  "  how  can  this 
be?" 

"I  wish  it  had  been  impossible,"  said  her  ladyship; 
"  but  any  thing  is  possible,  I  think,  when  I  am  to  be 
made  a  fool  of !  this  has  been  a  pretty  farce !  fine  fun 
at  Bath  for  every  body  but  myself !  One  joke  would 
not  serve  it  seems — we  were  all  dressed  out  and  ready 
to  go  to  church,  in  came  you,  and  snapt  up  the  bride- 
groom, and  all  the  folks  laughed.  We  had  all  got  into 
church  the  next  time,  when  in  comes  another  hawk  and 
snapt  up  my  bird  a  second  time  from  under  the  very 
wings  of  the  parson ! " 

While  they  were  talking,  George  Grove  came  upon 
them  unobserved,  and  touching  Lady  Charlotte  on  the 
shoulder,  asked  her  how  she  did  after  her  journey  ? — 
This  was  another  electric  stroke,  and  it  made  her  lady- 
ship jump. 

"Why,  Mr.  Grove,"  said  Genevieve,  "Charlotte, 
here,  says  you  are  not  married !  " 

"And  she  says  truly,"  quoth  he,  "we  are  not  mar- 
ried, nor  very  like  to  be,  for  my  father  has  given  me 
leave  to  visit  Julia,  and  tells  me  that  I  may  follow  my 
[412] 


£tje  £?i0tory  of  t&v.  Kloljn  Decastto 

head,  if  I  will,  and  marry  her  if  I  please,  for  he  has  had 
enough  of  lords  and  ladies." 

Upon  hearing  this,  Genevieve,  scarce  knowing  what 
she  did,  catched  George  round  the  neck  and  actually 
kissed  him  for  joy  !  The  countess  now  came  up,  took 
them  all  into  her  carriage,  and  drove  away  to  the  castle- 
gates  :  as  soon  as  George  Grove  got  into  the  carriage, 
the  countess,  as  might  well  be  expected,  asked  him 
what  was  come  to  his  father  ?  and  what  in  the  world 
had  led  him  to  do  such  a  thing  as  he  had  done  ?  George 
told  her  that  he  knew  no  more  than  she  did,  which  cer- 
tainly was  not  quite  the  sort  of  answer  to  satisfy  the 
countess's  curiosity,  who  might  as  well,  indeed,  be  kept 
in  the  dark.  Mr  Grove  of  Hindermark  was  a  very 
close  man ;  Lady  Charlotte  was  close  also,  and  so  far 
might  have  come  very  well  into  his  family,  for  how 
he  came  by  his  intelligence  he  never  knew,  Lady  Char- 
lotte kept  all  her  discoveries  to  herself :  she  was  a  very 
comical  girl. 


END    OF    VOL.    I. 


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